Bets, Prom, & Rom Coms
by katyastark
Summary: "Bet you just don't want to go alone, and you know you won't find a date in time." Katsuki sneers. He knows Kirishima is baiting him, but he's literally incapable of not rising to it. "Hah? I could have anyone I want in this shitty school! I just don't want to go!" "Is that so? Wanna make this interesting then?"
1. He's All That

"Bakubro, who are you taking to prom?" Kirishima, his meathead best friend asks from across the weight room. Cumulatively, Katsuki has probably spent most of his high school career in this small, sweat-damp room, whether it be from mandatory soccer conditioning, or from his penchant to overachieve. Kirishima is a beefy football star, and they might've never spoken to each other if not for their mornings spent here.

Katsuki grumbles, grunting under the weight of the leg press. He finishes his set of reps, and locks the machine in place before he answers.

"Prom is fucking stupid. I ain't going."

"What! You have to go," Kirishima bellows, waving gigantic free weights around like they weigh nothing.

"Last I checked, shitty school dances aren't mandatory."

"But! The memories!"

"Memories of sweating in a cheap rental tux and eating shitty chicken? Pass."

"You _never_ go to school dances, and prom is the _big _dance," he says, like he's making a good argument. He wipes sweat from his face, and puts the free weights down. Apparently, their workout is done. "Bet you just don't want to go alone, and you know you won't find a date in time."

Katsuki sneers. He knows Kirishima is baiting him, but he's literally incapable of not rising to it.

"_Hah? _I could have anyone I want in this shitty school! I just don't want to go!"

"Is that so? Wanna make this interesting then?" Kirishima smirks. Katsuki's fallen for his bullshit, hook, line, and sinker. He doesn't back down from a challenge, especially not a challenge he can win something from. Kirishima continues.

"I pick your prom date, and you make it happen. The limo, the tux, the kiss at midnight—_all_ of it."

Katsuki mouth moves faster than his brain. He hardly thinks of anything before he's emphatically agreeing.

"You're on, Shitty Hair," he says, pushing himself off the bench to clap Kirishima's hand in a gentleman's agreement. "And fuck you for making me go to the goddamn prom."

"I didn't make you do anything!"

—

"A _guy?"_ Katsuki stares at the person on the other end of Kirishima's pointed finger. He's baffled. "No fucking way! Pick someone else."

Not only is it a guy, but it's the nerdiest fucking guy in school. It's lunch time and he's entirely alone, sitting dangerously close to the overflowing dumpster. He's one of those social pariahs that everyone either avoids or accosts, depending on how they're feeling that day. Katsuki doesn't even know how that unspoken rule came to be. Katsuki doesn't even know his name. Well, his real name, anyway. Everyone calls him Deku. They've been classmates since primary school, and he's always been Deku. He's always been weird. He's always been skinny, in loose hand me down clothes. He's a walking cliche—all he's missing are an obnoxiously big pair of glasses and a _kick me_ sign on his back.

"Why? You like guys!"

"I'm not exactly out. Who comes out in high school?"

"This is the twenty-first century! And you're not exactly in the closet, either. Remember Camie's party last year? Shindo?" Kirishima gives him a knowing, pointed look, complete with raised eyebrows and something that could maybe pass for a wink.

"I could _never_ forget Shindo," Katsuki says, an uncharacteristically dreamy lilt to his usual gruff baritone.

"Yeah, neither can anyone else. You were very loud."

"Fuck all the way off," Katsuki says, beet red and shoving Kirishima away as he snickers at Katsuki's expense. He falls off the bench, and Katsuki feels vindicated. That is, until he doubles down on his choice for the bet.

"Shine up your dancing shoes, Bakubro. You're taking Deku to the prom." Kirishima picks himself up off the asphalt and dusts off his pristine letterman jacket.

Katsuki groans. It's not that he really gives a shit what people think—it's that he can't fathom spending an evening in the company of someone like Deku. They probably have nothing in common. Katsuki can't even think of a time he's ever heard Deku _speak._

"This is going to fucking blow."

"Honestly, bro, I'm going easy on you. You think that guy's not going to jump at the attention? It'll probably be the highlight of his year."

He has a point. The poor bastard can't have much going for him. There's just… one problem.

Katsuki knows fuck all about dating, flirting, and generally being nice.

"How the fuck do you ask someone out?" Katsuki blurts. Kirishima splutters, guffaws, and breaks into obnoxious laughter. Katsuki shoves him off the bench again.

"Try being nice!"

"Be serious," Katsuki says, anger burbling under the surface of his skin. Maybe he was too hasty in taking this bet.

"I am serious! Mina likes being complimented. Go tell him his eyes are pretty."

"Fuck you," Katsuki says, mostly as a knee jerk response.

—

Katsuki spends most of the lunch hour psyching himself up—inflating his ego to dangerous proportions. It doesn't take much to remind himself of all the things he has going for him: a 4.0 GPA, captain of the soccer team, a pretty face, and a brooding bad boy image.

_Who wouldn't want to date me?_

Katsuki marches up to Deku's slightly rancid lunch spot just before the bell rings. He's got his history textbook in his hands, but Katsuki can see that he's actually hiding a comic book in there. Odd. He's hunched over it like Gollum—or is it Smeagol? Katsuki only half-watched those movies.

"Hi," he barks. Deku nearly jumps a foot in the air, his book clattering to the blacktop. He scrambled to grab it and put it in his bag, like he got caught with contraband. He says nothing—he just stares up at Katsuki, and it's more than a little unnerving.

"You have pretty eyes."

Katsuki notes, briefly, that his eyes _are_ pretty—in a mossy, deep kind of way. He's too skinny and his eyes take up his whole face, like a goddamn bushbaby, but he's not _ugly._ He's got a sweet dusting of freckles across his cheeks, and curly, dark hair that'd probably work for him if he ran a brush through it.

Deku still says nothing. The only sign that he even heard Katsuki is that his mouth puckers in a little grimace. And then, the little shit has the audacity to pull a pair of sunglasses out of his bag and slowly put them on. It'd be funny if it wasn't clearly meant as a _fuck off._

The bell rings, and Deku vacates the premises at an impressive speed. Katsuki almost smiles.

Maybe this will be more fun than he thought. It definitely won't be easy, but Katsuki likes a challenge.


	2. Pride and Prejudice

Izuku shuffles along, hoping he's invisible to his peers, but knowing without a doubt that the target on his back is just as blatant as always. It doesn't matter how much he hunches in on himself, how little he looks up, someone always sees him.

"Hi," a familiar, gruff voice says lightly, very close to his ear. Izuku flinches, waiting for the onslaught and speeding up on instinct to do his best to get away from it. He spares a small glance at Bakugo. He hates himself for blushing when their eyes meet, and he quickly averts his gaze. He's surprised when nothing else happens. Bakugo just… keeps walking. Next to him. Going in the same direction. And he hasn't shoved him out of the way yet.

He only knows this because he can see Bakugo's clean, expensive Adidas walking in tandem with Izuku's beat up sneakers. He begrudgingly remembers what Bakugo said to him yesterday.

Your eyes are pretty.

Those four words played on a loop in his head all day yesterday—through classes, at his job at the library, all the way into his job at the corner store, and into Izuku's nightly routine. It was still on his mind when his head hit the pillow, and then it was replaced by the last thing Bakugo said to him all the way back in middle school.

Why don't you just take a swan dive off the roof, Deku?

And suddenly, the spell was broken. He hates how disgusting remembering those words makes him feel. Like Izuku, himself, is at fault for being hated by people who don't actually know him. Like it's all his fault. He hates thinking like this—he hates how often it happens. In an attempt to pull himself out of his thought spiral, he speaks up.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm courting you, dumbass," Bakugo says with an air of disinterest, as if he's reading the ingredients off the back of a shampoo bottle. His eyes are fixed on his phone, as if he hasn't just said something extremely embarrassing. Oh, to be so self-assured.

"What?" Izuku splutters. He can't help it. He can't think of a single time he's ever heard the word courting used outside of books like Pride and Prejudice.

"Give me your books. Where's your next class?"

Izuku feels like he may have fallen into some parallel universe, or a romantic comedy, or maybe he's just dreaming. Either way, Izuku wants this farce to end.

"Why would I tell you that?"

"Because I'm walking you there," he says, still scrolling through whatever app he has pulled up on his phone.

"Why?"

"Cause that's what people do. It's a thing."

"Did you look this up in Nineteenth Century Courtship 101?" Izuku almost slaps a hand over his mouth after he realizes what he just asked. Izuku rarely says what's on his mind. He rarely gets to be snarky and sarcastic, and the action feels dangerous and other.

Bakugo finally deigns to look up from his phone to stare at him with his piercing, pretty eyes, one side of his mouth curled in a smirk. Izuku's stomach lurches. This has to be a joke, or he's about to get the shit beat out of him.

"Fuck off," he says, but it's without any real heat. Bakugo says it like any other person would say sounds good or sure or…

Your eyes are pretty.

Izuku physically shakes himself. He needs to get a grip on reality.

"I will do just that. Bye."

Izuku starts forward, all but going into a sprint, only for Bakugo to delicately pinch the collar of Izuku's shirt between his thumb and forefinger to keep him from escaping.

"What's your deal, nerd? I'm being nice to you."

"I know. It's... extremely off-putting." There he goes again saying things that'll get him killed. What is wrong with him? Izuku closes his eyes, waiting for the inevitable strike, the blooming pain of an oncoming bruise.

"You're really fast. Why aren't you on the track team, or something?"

Izuku stares up at Bakugo, wondering if that was somehow a compliment. He considers ignoring the question completely, and then he looks at him again.

Why does he have to be so attractive?

Like the disaster gay he is, he answers, albeit reluctantly.

"No time."

There are many reasons why Izuku isn't on a sports team. He could've said I don't want to be around you people any more than I have to or I can't afford the uniform, but the fact that he has absolutely no time for anything after school is the most pressing reason, and easiest to explain away. He stares at his shoes in an attempt to make himself smaller. Maybe Bakugo will finally leave him alone and Izuku will be able to breathe properly again.

"Too busy playing video games?"

Izuku is surprised by the flare of annoyance he feels.

Pompous dickhead, he thinks. Izuku wishes he could spend all his time playing video games. He wishes he could afford a gaming console that isn't 20 years out of date. Getting angry won't help him, though. It won't change his circumstances and it won't get Bakugo off his back.

"Some of us have to work," he says, not nearly as bitterly as he could've said it. "Don't you have a soccer field to get to?"

"I'm surprised you even know I play soccer," Bakugo says, smiling down at him. Even his smile looks sharp and dangerous—and handsome. Way, way too handsome. It makes Izuku sweat.

"There's a soccer ball on your jacket," he mutters, looking away.

"Checking me out, huh? Nice."

Izuku's had about all he can take of the teasing. It's not usually so… nice. Well, that's not the right word for it. It's not every day that bullies take the time to pretend Izuku is in any way special or worthy of notice. Usually, they just shove him, or steal his things.

Izuku knows better than to believe this attempt at flirting with him is anything other than bullying, but that doesn't stop the butterflies. Bakugo is playing the long game, and Izuku needs to run before he makes a fool of himself.

"I have to go," Izuku mumbles, feeling especially vulnerable under Bakugo's gaze, and especially aware of the hand still gripping the back of his collar. He shakes it off, shoving Bakugo's hand away because if he was going to physically harm him, he would've done it already.

Izuku hastens away, his backpack bouncing erratically on his back, the slow creep of panic settling in his chest. He breathes through it, reassures himself that no one can hurt him if he sees it coming.

He'll be fine.


	3. Carrie

Katsuki can't say he's in any way familiar with flirting and dating, but he's almost positive he's not doing it right. His desperate bouts of anthropological research during school haven't helped. He's spent the last few days observing his peers and how they interact with the people they like. Kirishima and Ashido were always walking to class together, even if their classes weren't in the same building, and he'd carry her backpack. Todoroki would awkwardly compliment Yaomomo, looking fondly at her blushing face. Kaminari was always cracking jokes, making weird gestures, and using awful puns that somehow seemed to endear him to Jiro while simultaneously annoying her.

None of it really made sense to Katsuki. Maybe it's because he doesn't actually feel anything for Deku, but all his attempts at _courting—_seriously, Katsuki can't believe he ever used that word in a fucking sentence—only seem to make Deku angry or scared.

Maybe none of this is Katsuki's fault and Deku is just wildly undersocialized. Either way, his chances of winning this bet aren't looking good. Katsuki decides to just… be himself. It can't be any worse than anything else he's tried, so Katsuki waits for Deku at the school gates, ready to put his plan into action.

Deku makes eye contact with Katsuki and immediately stops in his tracks, frantically looking for another way into the school.

"Oi, Deku. Come here."

Deku grimaces slightly before sighing and walking slowly towards him. He doesn't stop at Katsuki, he just keeps going through the gate. The little guy really is fast. Katsuki uses his longer legs to catch up with him easily.

"Prom is coming up. You going?"

"No way," he says, shaking his curls vehemently. "I've seen all those teen romantic comedies. Not a chance in hell, so don't even ask me."

Katsuki doesn't think he's ever heard him string that many words together at once, so maybe he really is making progress.

"What are you on about, nerd?"

"_10 Things I Hate About You, She's All That, Carrie,"_ he says, listing movies Katsuki's never seen on his fingertips. "You're not original, Bakugo. This whole scenario has played out before. The hot guy doesn't take the nerdy, gay kid to the prom for no reason."

"You think I'm hot?" Katsuki asks, grinning wickedly. Deku's face goes flat with disapproval.

"Of course, that's all you got from that."

Without even realizing it, Katsuki's found himself in front of a classroom—a class he doesn't share with Deku. He doesn't hesitate to scurry off to his seat, leaving Katsuki standing like an ass in the doorway. He doesn't want to push his luck, so he'll just have to talk to him at lunch.

"See you later, Deku."

He doesn't miss the way everyone in class stares at him, then Deku. He only hunches down further in his seat in response.

—

"What happens at the prom in all those movies?" Katsuki asks after Deku has just sat down at an empty table. He pulls an ancient, yellow GameBoy Color out of his backpack before staring at Katsuki, like he's trying to decide if it's worth it to answer his question. Katsuki waits, still standing. He shouldn't sit down. He shouldn't push too far, but damn it if he isn't going to at least lay some real groundwork with the guy before going about his day.

"I get telekinesis and you die," he says flatly, eyes trained on the dim screen of his game. "There's a bucket of pig's blood, too."

"The fuck? You serious?" Katsuki balks. He didn't expect that. As a rule, most romantic comedies don't contain blood and gore. "What kind of fucked up rom coms are you watching, Deku?"

Deku's eyes flick up to Katsuki for just a second. He's fighting a small, dimpled smile, trying not to laugh. Katsuki's close enough to him that he sees his nose wrinkle, like a rabbit. After a short silence, punctuated by the plasticky clicking of buttons, he speaks again.

"_Carrie _isn't a rom com. I'm surprised you haven't seen it. It's a classic."

Katsuki isn't sure what to say to that, so be changes the subject.

"What are you playing?"

"Who wants to know?"

"Me, dumbass. That's why I asked."

"Pokemon. Red version. Don't you have somewhere else to be?" Deku curls in on himself, squinting at the game screen.

"Didn't they remake that game for a newer console? That shit's not even backlit. It's gotta be killer on your eyes."

Deku sighs, long and heavy, and puts down his GameBoy. He stares up at Katsuki, who never bothered to sit down with him. He probably looks odd looming over him, but Katsuki has his own lunch table to get to at some point.

"Why are you still here?"

It's a good question, really. A fair one, at the very least. He made a bet with Kirishima and he's running out of time, but it's not like he can tell Deku that. So, instead, he sits down, fully committing, and starts to take out his lunch. He can see Deku watching him from the corner of his eye, frowning in consternation, before not so subtly scooting away from Katsuki and going back to his game.

Lunch is halfway over, and he hasn't seen Deku pull any kind of food out of his backpack even though Katsuki can faintly hear his stomach growling.

"Aren't you going to eat?"

Deku shakes his head, still engrossed in his game. His stomach gives a loud groan, like a cry for help.

"No wonder you're so skinny. You one of those freaky eaters, or something?"

Deku doesn't respond, and it irks Katsuki. Why does he have to be so difficult? Katsuki appreciates a challenge, but this is proving to be next to impossible. For the first time in his life, he might lose a bet. He's going to lose his entire allowance and have to pay for Kirishima's prom expenses and it's all dumb Deku's fault. Katsuki takes an apple out of his lunch bag and puts it on the table in front of Deku. He only stares at it.

"What did you do to it?"

"How could I possibly tamper with an apple? Just eat the damn thing. I'm tired of hearing your stomach growl."

"You could've dropped it in the toilet or rubbed your junk all over it or whatever stupid things you dumb jocks do for fun."

"You're fucking paranoid, you know that?"

"Your friends used to take turns spitting in my milk carton every day in elementary school, just hoping to see me drink it. I'm not paranoid, and I don't need your handouts," he says, and Katsuki thinks it's the first time he's seen Deku genuinely angry. He bats away the apple, hoists his things up, and practically stomps away.

Katsuki watches him go, thinking about the milk thing. He doesn't even remember that. Someone shoves Deku before he can escape the quad, knocking his backpack off his shoulder. His GameBoy clatters to the ground, batteries freed and rolling away from him as people laugh at his misfortune.

He watches as Deku let's a sigh so heavy his shoulders sag with its release. He looks up at the ceiling for a moment, the way Katsuki sometimes does when he needs to center himself before a game winning kick. Another sigh, and Deku collects his things and leaves. Katsuki feels something ugly churning inside him. A black pit, yawning wide and tearing his stomach open. It's something like pity. Maybe guilt.

—

Katsuki adds the movies Deku mentioned to his Netflix queue, so he won't forget them. He starts _Carrie_ on his laptop, and props it up on the kitchen counter so he can watch it while he packs his lunch for tomorrow. About halfway through making his own sandwich, he decides to make an extra one, thinking of Deku's loud, empty stomach. He pulls two of everything off the shelves and packs them into a brown paper bag. Katsuki wonders how much farther he'll have to go to win this bet, and then, fleetingly, thinks that maybe he's not doing it to win the bet at all. Maybe he just wants to do something nice for Deku because that small smile he had on his face earlier in the day was the only one he's ever seen, and it was so bad to look at.

—

"Hypothetically, if you did get telekinesis and decided to _Carrie _everyone, who would you save?"

Katsuki decided to forgo a greeting and get right to it. He throws himself onto the bench next to him, shoulder bumping Deku's briefly. He looks up from a textbook, squinting at him like it pains him to listen to Katsuki's nonsense.

"I don't know anyone well enough to answer that question," he mumbles and sticks his nose back in his book.

"We've been in school with most of these people since elementary."

"And?"

"You wouldn't save anyone? Not even me?"

"If this was _Carrie, _you'd be the one dropping pig's blood on me."

"No, I'm the nice guy that gets domed with the bucket. Shitty way to go, by the way. Fucking lame."

"I wouldn't call you nice," Deku says while flipping a page in his history textbook. They don't have any assignments or tests coming up in that class. He wonders why he's reading it.

"I'm plenty nice. Here," he says, pulling a paper sack out of his backpack on tossing it on his open textbook. "All pre-packaged. Nobody fucked with it. Well, there's a sandwich in there, but I'll take a bite out of it if you don't trust me."

"Why are you doing this? I told you I don't need any handouts."

"Nutrition is important," Katsuki says, smirking.

"Yeah, these Frito's look very nutritious."

"Beggars can't be choosers." Katsuki takes a bite of Deku's sandwich in hopes that he'll eat the damn thing. Instead, Deku's head whips up to glare at him, his face an unpleasant shade of scarlet.

"I'm not a beggar," he hisses, consonants sharp on his tongue. Katsuki doesn't know why Deku's got his undies in a twist about the word choice.

"Chill out, Deku. It's a figure of speech. Eat the damn lunch."

Deku stares defiantly at the crumpled paper sack, as if it's personally wronged him. He opens his mouth, probably to tell Katsuki to fuck off, but he's cut off by his own traitorous stomach. It gives a painful sounding growl.

"Fine… but don't do this again."

"What an odd way to say thank you."

"Thanks…" Deku says, but it's under duress.

Now, if he could just get him to the goddamn prom under duress, everything will be perfect.


	4. Mean Girls

His free period drags on. He's got nothing to do today, so he sits in the quad with Yaomomo, Uraraka, and Ashido. They don't really talk to him, but they let him listen in on their inane conversation about prom.

"Did Todoroki do the big ask? I love promposal stories," Ashido gushes excitedly. Momo shakes her head.

"I asked him not to. I don't see the point in things like that. It's not like I didn't already plan on going with him."

"What the hell is a promposal?" Katsuki asks, his mouth curling around the word in distaste.

"You know, like a big flashy way to ask out your prom date," Uraraka says between popping grapes in her mouth.

"I'm still waiting for Kiri to ask me. You should drop hints for me, Baku." Ashido has the gall to curl a perfectly manicured hand around his arm and shake him. Uraraka laughs at the disgruntled look on his face.

"Like what?" Katsuki grumbles.

"I don't know. Balloons and flowers?"

"Why do you need balloons and flowers if you already know he's going to ask you and you're going to say yes?"

"It's just fun! Makes me feel appreciated, you know?"

"Or, it's a manipulation tactic to publicly force you into saying yes," Momo says sagely.

"Oh? Tell me more about that," Katsuki says, interest piqued. He's still got to get Deku to the prom with him. Maybe a little public manipulation will help.

"Who are you asking?" Mina and Uraraka ask in high pitched unison, practically screaming in his ear. He glares at them.

"Got a bet going with Kirishima. I'm asking Deku."

"That's fucked up," Yaomomo says, not missing a beat. Katsuki thinks this is the first time he's ever heard her swear.

"How? I'm just taking him to prom free of charge. No harm done."

"What else? There's got to be more to it than that." Uraraka pops another grape in her mouth, coolly staring him down, a penciled brow raised in question.

"What's it to you? You don't even know Deku," he says, deflecting.

"Neither do you," Yaomomo says, eyes narrowed at him like he's the fucking scum of the earth. "How do you think he'll feel when you inevitably ghost him after you've made him think you like him?"

"Who says I don't like him?" Katsuki asks defensively.

"The laws of every high school rom com in existence," Ashido says, examining her fingernails like she couldn't care less about this conversation. Katsuki chuckles.

"That's what he said the first time I asked him."

"Smart boy. It's a shame people can't just let him be."

"You make it sound like I'm trying to ruin his life. It's _harmless."_

"From what I hear his life's already on the downswing. He doesn't need to deal with your bullshit on top of all that." Ashido is the biggest gossip in the school, and when she drops juicy hints like that even Katsuki listens. Her mom works in the office, so she knows all the good dirt.

"What do you mean?"

"You know, dead mom, drunk dad, hardly has two pennies to rub together." She ticks off misfortunes like she's checking off her grocery list, entirely unfazed. "He's a tragedy in progress."

"How do you know all that?"

Katsuki feels that same pit opening in his stomach, that gnawing guilt that led him to bringing Deku lunches every day. Deku doesn't even try to act like he doesn't want the food anymore. He takes it with a quiet _thanks, _and eats like the food will be stolen from him if he doesn't go quickly. He's like a feral cat, slowly but surely accepting Katsuki's presence a little more every day. Katsuki realizes he must be really lonely with a home life just as shitty as his school life.

"My mom's a busy-body and I'm a gossip. We know everything." She smiles condescendingly.

"That's why her hair is so big— it's full of secrets," Uraraka whispers dramatically.

"If you really want to take him to the prom, just bribe him with food. He's the only person in school who needs that free lunch program."

Katsuki sees Uraraka frown at Ashido's callousness. He refrains from telling them that he's already bribing Deku with food. Instead, he says, "He never eats lunch."

"He gets to school early for breakfast," Uraraka mumbles, looking away. "I used to need the—"

Ashido cuts Uraraka off, and she almost looks relieved that she didn't finish her sentence.

"Probably so people don't fuck with his food. Remember in elementary when Chisaki used to fill a milk carton up with spit, and switch it with Deku's? Fucking nasty."

Yaomomo purses her lips, disgusted with the whole conversation.

"Why don't I remember any of this shit?"

"That was back when your head was so far up your own ass, you couldn't be bothered with us _extras."_

Ah, that makes some sense. That was before his parents sent him to that shitty counselor—before he found a sport to channel all his rage into.

Chisaki was on the soccer team, too. He's never fucking liked the guy, but now he feels a need to really fuck him up in practice with a well-aimed goal kick to the face. Katsuki finds the fact that Deku referred to Chisaki as his friend insulting, as if Katsuki is in any way on the same level as that asshole. Teammate doesn't equal friend, but he supposes Deku thinks all jocks look the same and band together. He decides to change the subject.

"So, you think I should buy him flowers?"

"I think you should leave him alone," Yaomomo says, crossing her arms.

"I don't know, Yaomomo. Maybe Deku just needs a friend. You're not going to hurt him, or anything, right?"

"Nope. Just dinner and dancing and whatever else people are supposed to do at prom."

"That should be okay. I feel bad for him. He's always alone."

"Maybe he wants to be alone."

"I don't know why you're acting like some pious protector, Yaomomo. It's not like you've ever stepped in to make his life any easier," Katsuki barks, tired of Yaomomo's bullshit. She's probably never said a word to Deku. She probably stands by when Deku gets pushed around, just like everyone else.

"I really don't understand why we're wasting time on this topic. Buy the nerd some flowers. Big fucking deal." Ashido rolls her eyes, and promptly changes the subject to something even dumber than prom.

Katsuki grumbles and leaves the table, ready to find somewhere quieter to plan his next move. He's halfway across the quad before he realizes Uraraka is running after him.

"Bakugo, wait up!"

"What?" He doesn't stop completely, but he does slow down, so she can catch up. He likes Uraraka. She's a fucking beast. Bakugo watched one of her volleyball games last year and seriously thought she might tear someone's throat out, she was so serious about winning. Out for blood. Katsuki respects that kind of drive.

"There's a really nice flower shop a few blocks from here. I think you should go for it. With Deku, I mean. He's always been really nice to me. He deserves some kindness back."

"He talks to you?" Katsuki raises a dubious eyebrow. Katsuki's never seen anyone talk to Deku without shoving him either before or after. Uraraka reddens, a bit flustered.

"Sort of. Um, we used to get to school at the same time."

"The breakfast thing, right?"

She nods sheepishly, her hands wringing the straps of her backpack.

"My parents construction company went under a few years back. It was tough for a while, but those meals really helped. Um, maybe keep that to yourself for me, though?"

"Yeah," Katsuki says. He's no gossip, and there's no reason to tell. Uraraka seems so relieved to know he won't say anything, and a few things about Deku fall into place for him.

He's embarrassed. That's why he threw a fit about the food—about _handouts. _That's why he stomped away when Katsuki unwittingly equated him with a beggar. Money must be really tight for Deku.

"What's a good flower? I don't know shit about this stuff."

"I really like daffodils. That shop has a ton of them in the window. They're simple and cheap and not too romantic. I think he'll like them!"

Katsuki nods, ready to be done with the conversation. Without having to be told, Uraraka splits off and walks in a different direction.

—

Katsuki feels like a fucking idiot as he hands over a few bills in exchange for a bouquet of daffodils. His face feels hot just thinking about doing _the big ask—_he refuses to call it a promposal. Katsuki isn't a flowers and confessions, romance and big gestures kind of guy. He's not really sure what kind of guy he is, but he knows this isn't it. Kirishima snickers behind him, and Katsuki only barely resists beating him to death with the flowers.

He said he tagged along for moral support, but Katsuki knows he's just likes watching him squirm. The plan is to corner Deku in the quad before classes start, and ask him to the prom in front of everyone. He's only got a few weeks left, and the tickets won't be for sale much longer. He needs to lock this shit down, and nothing else has worked.

The second they walk through the school gates, he makes a beeline for Deku. He's in perfect position, reading a book near the lockers. There's a good crowd of people nearby, too. Katsuki hopes Yaomomo is right about the whole public pressure thing. Deku flinches when Katsuki gets close enough to talk to him. He kind of accidentally screams at him—Katsuki's a little nervous, so what?

"Oi, Deku!" He thrusts the flowers at Deku, and mutters, "Go to prom with me."

He didn't mean to make it sound like a command, but, well, that's just how it happened. For some reason, he finds himself a bit jittery about the whole thing. Maybe it's because Kirishima is still behind him, cackling like an idiot. Maybe it's because he's almost certain Deku is going to say no.

Deku stares at Katsuki, then the flowers, then over his shoulder where Kirishima and the rest of the gathering crowd stands. He repeats the rapid fire stare again three more times, and then he fucking _bolts—_like _eat my fucking dust, _wind in the hair, Olympic world record _bolts._

Kirishima cracks up again, and Katsuki is painfully aware of how _stupid_ he looks holding a bouquet of flowers, staring after someone who is quite literally running away from him like his life depends on it. Katsuki turns on a dime and chucks the flowers at Kirishima's bright crimson head.

"Shut the fuck up, Shitty Hair! You scared him off!"

Kirishima is bent over in hysterics, literal tears running down his cheeks, and others have joined in with him. Katsuki's just enough of a shithead to hope that they're laughing more at Deku than they are at him.

"Oh, my god. You struck out so hard! Holy shit," Kirishima says, still hiccuping with laughter and wiping tears out of his eyes. He has a crushed daffodil stuck in his hair.

"Fuck off," he bellows, stomping away. He leaves the flowers where they fell to the ground, rumpled and slightly crushed. So, much for that idea. He wonders how much this little stunt is going to cost him in terms of all the progress he's made with Deku.

—

Katsuki approaches Deku at lunch, ready to play at being repentant. The last thing he expected of this morning was for Deku to run away from him. He seats himself at the table, tossing Dekus bag lunch down nonchalantly. As usual, Deku ignores him.

"Sorry about earlier. Kirishima is a dumbass. He wasn't laughing at you."

"Yes, he was. And you're not sorry about it," he mumbles, and sticks his nose in his history book again. Katsuki squints at the page number. He's got to be at least five chapters ahead of the material they're covering in class.

"Why are you reading that?"

Deku sighs, stares at him, weighs his options. Katsuki's far too used to this look by now. Deku's sizing him up, wondering how honest to be. The fact that he continues to stare at him while speaking almost certainly means he's about to tell the truth—and Katsuki's not quite sure how he knows that.

"It's the least boring subject in school, and I have nothing better to do."

Katsuki almost winces at Deku's blatant candor. How fucking bored does someone have to be to read a textbook?

"Where's your GameBoy?"

"Broken." The world is clipped—a clear sign that he doesn't want to talk about it.

"Aren't those things near indestructible?" Katsuki asks. Deku flips a page before answering.

"Not even the sturdy engineering of the 90's can withstand toilet water."

"Someone threw it in the toilet?"

Deku shrugs, and goes back to his book. He's hunching again, a defense mechanism. Katsuki hates when he does that because it usually means he's done talking to him.

"Deku," Katsuki starts, but he doesn't know where he's going with it. He just knows that he feels angry on Deku's behalf, indignant rage simmering in the center of his being. What fucking troglodyte thought that would be funny?

"Next time someone fucks with you, tell me," he finally says, and he's serious as a heart attack. He wants Deku to feel safe with him. He wants him to know that Katsuki can be trusted, even if that's not entirely true. He wants him to at least believe that he won't trash his possessions, or poison his food, or any of the other fucked up things he's heard in his quest to know Deku better.

Deku makes a noncommittal noise and hunches further into his book. Katsuki lets him be, eating his lunch in heavy silence.

—

He spends the rest of the day in a foul mood, and almost breaks Chisaki's nose because he intention send the ball at his head every time he gets near the goal.

After dinner—after fielding question after question about school and soccer and prom, Katsuki spends the entire evening searching for his old GameBoy Advance SP and his Fire Red game cartridge. He actually bellows _eureka_ when he unearths it from a box in the garage labeled _Katsuki's childhood shit_. He spends another small eternity testing various charging cables looking for the correct one. Maybe he should've tailored the promposal to Deku's interests, and a small gift he actually wants definitely couldn't hurt.

"Brat, what the hell are you doing in here?"

His mom stares at the mess of boxes in the garage. She looks disgruntled by the mess. Admittedly, it does sort of look like a cyclone ran through it.

"Looking for something." He holds up the freshly charged GameBoy.

"Since when do you bother with video games?" She crosses her arms and stands in the doorway, barring his exit.

"Since when do you badger me with dumb questions?"

"Since you've started going to school with two lunches, and spend your time poking around old shit in the garage. Who the hell are you feeding?"

"I just get extra hungry, hag! I'm a growing boy."

"You're a piece of work, is what you are. A damn, dirty liar. If I'm funding their school lunches, you should bring them over. Boyfriend or girlfriend?"

His mom knew he was bi, but definitely not because he told her. She literally walked in on him beating off to an old Beckham poster. There's a reason he's one of the only sports players to ever be nominated for Sexiest Man Alive. Just the thought of that unfortunate incident still makes him blush with mortification.

"Stop." Katsuki rolls his eyes.

"Masaru, he's blushing! You owe me twenty bucks!"

His dad materialized behind her, further blocking Katsuki's escape, and surely about to embarrass him further.

"Boyfriend or girlfriend? What color are you wearing to prom!"

Katsuki barrels past his parents and sprints up to his room. He can hear their pitter pattering footsteps behind him.

"Leave me alone!"

Katsuki spends the rest of the night holed up in his room, wondering what color tux would go best with Deku's...everything. Maybe green.

—

That day, Katsuki walks around with an extra spring in his step. He's feeling confident about this. The Gamboy is in his pocket, and he just knows Deku will be happy to accept it. He hasn't seen Deku smile in weeks, and that one was pitiful. He wants to see Deku really smile, nose fully wrinkled, dimples on display. Today is the day.

At lunch, he puts it on the table in front of Deku, and as usual, he stares at it like it's a live bomb.

"Open it," he prompts, nudging Deku's shoulder. He immediately feels bad and scoots away when Deku flinches. Still, he opens it. There's a sticky note with the word _prom?_ scrawled on it over the screen. Deku closes it sharply, and slides the GameBoy back towards Katsuki.

"No."

"Why not?" He frowns. What does he have to do to lock this down? Katsuki knows he's not the most experienced at this whole thing, but he really thought he finally got it right. He's surprised by the depth of his disappointment.

"Too expensive. It's a waste of money," he mumbles, looking anywhere but at Katsuki, fidgeting nonstop.

"I'll pay for everything."

"I said _no."_

Katsuki knows he shouldn't snap at him. He knows that won't do him any favors, and the thought of making Deku flinch _again_ really doesn't appeal to him. Still, he lets his disappointment turn to anger.

"Why do you have to be so difficult, Deku? Christ."

"Do you even know my _name?"_ Izuku asks, voice breaking on the last word. He looks genuinely upset—not angry. Katsuki can handle anger. This is way worse because Deku's eyes are too shiny, and somehow bigger than usual. It's especially bad because he has nothing to say. No defense. No magical name to speak. His mouth just hangs agape as he tries to think of something—_anything—_to dog him out of this.

"That's what I thought. So keep your pity gifts, and your shitty apologies, and find some other loser to embarrass at prom. _I'm_ not falling for it," he spits.


	5. 10 Things I Hate About You

Izuku spends the last half of lunch wedged in the back corner of the library. No one ever comes in here at lunch because they're not allowed to eat here, so he's safe for now. He's trying not to cry and failing miserably. He thought he could handle this—the teasing, the flirting, the unexpected gifts, and the free lunches that he so desperately _needs_—but he _can't. _No one's ever been so nice to him. Not since his mom died.

And it's not even real.

Izuku thought that if he just kept reminding himself of that he'd be fine, but even if it's not real it still feels real enough. It still lets butterflies loose in his stomach when he makes Bakugo laugh, or when he makes a joke that isn't at Izuku's expense. It makes him ache with loneliness. It makes him wish his mom was alive and his dad was sober and he wasn't working two jobs because the unemployment checks stopped coming over a year ago. It makes him yearn for control.

How is Izuku supposed to control this? How can he turn a mean-spirited prank into something beneficial for him?

"Hi," a soft, feminine voice breaks him out of his downward spiral. He jumps. He can't remember the last time a girl talked to him.

Uraraka stands a safe distance away, smiling shyly at him. She's always been kind to him when they cross paths—and by kind, he means that she's always politely ignored him. They used to chat briefly when they'd end up sitting across from each other in the cafeteria, but she's never acknowledged him when others might see. Izuku feels it's probably better that way. Better to not make her a target.

"Hi," he mumbles weakly, subtly hunching in one himself. He's incapable of not leaning into his misery at the moment.

"Can I sit down?"

Izuku nods, avoiding her eye. She looks _concerned._ Izuku hates concern more than he hates blatant dislike or cruel interest. She sits down next to him, but makes sure not to touch him. He appreciates that even if she's doing it for her own comfort, rather than his.

"Are you alright?" She speaks softly, and it's a tone he hasn't heard in so long, his heart immediately seizes in his chest. His mom used to speak like that. Soft, sweet, and kind. He can't speak over the lump in his throat, so he nods.

"I encouraged Bakugo to buy you the flowers. I'm really sorry. I thought you might like them," she says, blowing the confession out like a sigh. She looks genuinely apologetic. Izuku stares at her for a moment—her pouting frown and her round pink cheeks. Her face is literally designed to make people trust her, and Izuku feels his walls coming down.

"Even if this whole thing wasn't for some mean joke, I can't afford to go to prom."

"Bakugo told you about the bet?"

_Ah, there it is,_ he thinks. He knew there was something riding on Bakugo's recent change of heart. He didn't think solid confirmation would hurt so much.

"He didn't, but I know better."

"I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," Izuku says, wringing his hands. He finds himself asking _who's fault is it?_ Is it his fault?

"It's not your fault, either. People suck."

_Everything sucks and I'm so, so tired._

He doesn't know what to say, so he says nothing. Uraraka's not here to watch him have his pity party. She's here because she's not a horrible human being, and she feels guilty. That's really the best he can hope for out of people at school.

"You know, Bakugo's heart may not be in the right place, but who says you have to let yourself be embarrassed? Just… take him to the cleaners." She giggles. Izuku's head whips around to stare at her.

"What?"

"He's so determined to take you to prom, why not do it? Bakugo's got money. Use him as much as he's using you."

"You… you think I can do that?"

"I think it's the least you deserve. You're a good person, De—" She stops short. Izuku appreciates that she's trying not to use his moniker—the one Chisaki Kai and Shimura Tenko came up with in elementary, right after his mom died and his dad couldn't afford anything, much less new clothes and shoes to keep him fitting in with everyone else. The one that's short for Defenseless Izuku, and then turned into just _useless_ when everyone inevitably forgot his name.

"My name's Izuku. Midoriya Izuku."

She smiles at him, but not without pity. She holds a hand out to him, the universal sign for a handshake.

"It's nice to meet you, Midoriya."

Izuku smiles and shakes her hand. It's warm in his palm, and Izuku thinks this is the best day he's had in years.

—

Katsuki sulks and avoids Deku the rest of the day. That isn't difficult because Deku is great at blending into the background, skulking around at half his already tiny size to avoid anyone's eye. Even when Deku's in full incognito mode, Katsuki's eyes still go straight to him. It's like a sixth sense. He spends the few classes they share staring at the back of his bushy green head and the curved hunch of his shoulders. That stupid GameBoy feels like it's burning a hole in his pocket. Before this idiotic bet, he probably couldn't pick Deku out of a lineup. Now, he could identify his body after a tragic accident, as long as the back of his neck wasn't horribly disfigured.

This is getting out of hand. Before, he was just determined to win a bet, to get his horrible experience with prom paid for by Kirishima. Now, he's a constant bubbling pot of regret—a stew of guilt that threatens to overflow every time Deku frowns at him, or flinches away when he moves too quickly, or is so heartbreakingly honest about his shitty life it makes Katsuki want to scream. Before, this was about a bet. Now, it's about making things right.

—

He doesn't know how to make things right. Faking nice was hard enough, and he's running out of ideas. Deku takes up a lot of space in his head, but the truth is Katsuki knows next to nothing about him. He likes history enough to read the textbook. He likes Pokémon. He watches movies like _Carrie._ Katsuki never bothered to watch the other ones because they seemed like shitty romances, and all those movies are the same, but maybe… maybe there's some hidden clue in them. Maybe he can do some research and plan his next move. First, he needs to know Deku's name.

_Back to the fucking garage, _he thinks. He'd like to get this done before his mom gets home. He'd rather die than be cornered by her again. His search goes much more smoothly than last time, now that he knows what the labeled boxes say. With surgical precision, he plucks the _Katsuki's school shit_ box off the shelf, and digs in.

Amid the plethora of MVP soccer trophies and spelling bee blue ribbons, is a stack of yearbooks that goes all the way back to the fourth grade. This should be easy. No need to go through all of them. He starts with the most recent one—junior year—and flips quickly to his class page. His fingertips trail across pictures of his friends, all dressed to impress, grinning widely behind the shitty blue backdrop. He scans the whole thing twice, searching for those big green eyes and freckled cheeks. He subtly hopes that maybe Deku smiled in his picture, so he'll finally get to see it.

"He's not in here. How the fuck is he not in here?" Katsuki grumbles to himself. Deku has finally made him so crazy that he's talking to himself. Fucking great.

At the end of the class page, there's a blank space.

_Not pictured: Izuku Midoriya._

"That's got to be him," he says to absolutely no one. Again, Katsuki is surprised by his disappointment. No picture of Deku—_Izuku, _he corrects himself. Calling him anything other than Deku is going to be a hard habit to break.

Katsuki could end this search right now, but he likes to be thorough. He refuses to think too hard on exactly why he pulls out the next yearbook and does the whole search again. It's because he wants to know for sure, not because he wants to see a picture of Deku. Definitely not.

The yearbook from sophomore year yields more of the same. Not pictured. Not even in the candid pages of school events. He pulls out the freshman year one, and the one from eighth grade. Izuku Midoriya isn't in any of them. He goes all the way back to the last yearbook in the stack. Fourth grade. Katsuki's not expecting much, but again, he likes to know he tried his best, so he opens the class page.

And there he is. Tiny Deku—Izuku Midoriya—with a beaming grin. His chubby cheeks are split wide, his eyes crinkling at the edges. He looks so different, and not just because he's only ten years old. He looks so carefree and happy. This Deku would never spend his lunch by the dumpsters, or hunch over when someone tries to talk to him. This Deku looks friendly and sweet, and Katsuki's shriveled, little heart clenches in his chest. He rubs a thumb over little, smiling Izuku, as if doing so will age him up seven years.

"What are you smiling at, brat?"

Katsuki starts at the unexpected intrusion, slamming the yearbook shut with an uncharacteristic yelp. His mom smiles, but it's sharp, almost threatening. It's a look he's come to fear in his adolescent years—it's a look that says _gotcha, bitch._

Katsuki begins stuffing the books back in the box, they're all out of order now, but that's the least of his worries. Katsuki worms his way past her, booking it up to his room.

"You know, it's healthy to share your emotions!"

"Not with you, hag!"

"Use protection!"

"Shut up!"

The last thing he hears before he slams his door is his horrible mother's raucous laughter.

—

Once Katsuki's face is no longer on fire, he opens his Netflix queue to behind phase two of his new plan. He picked _10 Things I Hate About You_ instead of _She's All That_ because he'd rather watch a movie with the Joker from _Dark Knight _than Fred from _Scooby Doo._ He actually enjoys it, even though it's painfully 90's and the acting leaves a bit to be desired. He's perturbed when he comes to find that the whole movie hinges on a bet, not unlike his bet with Kirishima, and of course there's prom involved. Deku wasn't joking when he called him unoriginal.

And then, halfway through the movie, he has an epiphany. He knows exactly what his next move is.

—

Katsuki walks with purpose on Monday morning. He spent all day Friday coordinating his plans, and he's ready to make shit happen. Prom ticket sales end today and this is Katsuki's last chance. He heads to the lockers looking for one person in particular. Uraraka is standing next to Iida, and they're both blushing wildly as they talk about—of all things—a math test.

_Who blushes over fucking math?_

"Uraraka. Got a second?"

Uraraka turns to him, and Iida politely moves to his locker to get his things, dismissing himself.

"What's up?"

"I need a favor," he says, almost frantically. Before she can refuse, he continues. "I need you to make sure De—_Izuku_—gets to the amphitheater at lunch. Carry him there if you have to. I know you're strong enough."

"Planning another promposal?" Her smile is soft with something like minute guilt, but she seems game enough to help him.

"Yeah. A big one."

She nods, smile in place, and promises to make it happen. She excuses herself to get to first period. Iida is still there, staring after her. Katsuki's about to continue minding his own fucking business, but decides to do Uraraka a solid.

"You should ask her to prom," he says, gruff. He leans against the locker watching Iida's face go from pink to scarlet in five seconds flat.

"What? Oh, no, I—" Iida stammers, but Katsuki cuts him off.

"She likes daffodils. And you. Just do the damn thing."

He walks away before Iida can say anything dumb. Katsuki tries not to think about how easy it would be for Iida to take the girl he likes to prom because the unfounded jealousy curling in his gut is actually unbearable. Katsuki never goes for the easy way, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't prefer it if Deku just said yes on the first ask.

—

"Midoriya! Holy shit, Bakugo looks strung out and desperate. He asked me to make sure you're in the amphitheater at lunch. Any idea why?"

Izuku balks at the blatant display of casual friendship. Uraraka looks excited, for whatever reason. He's confused, but he decides to go with it. Why look a gift horse in the mouth?

"No, I haven't talked to him. Probably another dumb thing for the bet."

"Well, we have to go!"

"We do?"

"Of course! You've got him on the hook, right? This is perfect!"

Izuku frowns. When Uraraka gave him advice about what to do about the whole Bakugo prom thing, he didn't expect it to go any further than a quiet moment in the library. He didn't expect her to goad him into going along with it, into taking her advice.

_Take him to the cleaners._ He laughed for a full ten minutes when he finally had a moment to himself at the end of the day. What an odd saying—like she was in some old mobster movie.

"You really think this is a good idea?"

"What do you have to lose?" She grabs his arm, squeezes it in something like excited solidarity.

_What do I have to lose?_

It's a good question, really. What does he have to lose? His dignity and self-respect left him long ago. His general _joie de vivre _is gone. He knows Bakugo couldn't care less about him, and his life honestly couldn't get much worse. So, really, the answer is nothing.

"Nothing, I guess."

"Then, the real question is, what do you have to gain?"

"Hopefully, a new GameBoy," he says, mostly to himself. Uraraka lets out a surprised laugh. It's almost a splutter.

"Did you just make a joke?" She smiles at him, her hand still wrapped around his arm. It's his bad arm. The scarred arm—from the accident. He hates that arm—the scars, the memories, but even so, he feels warm at the thought of someone caring enough to grab him in a platonically affectionate way.

"Let's go to the amphitheater." He gives her a tentative smile, and she squeals. Izuku allows himself to be dragged to the center of the school, even though he's dreading whatever he's about to walk into.

The second they make it to the lower part of the school's outdoor amphitheater be hears it—a song he heavily associates with his favorite rom com. A movie he remembers briefly mentioning to Bakugo weeks ago.

_You're just too good to be true_

_I can't take my eyes off you_

_You'd be like heaven to touch_

_I wanna hold you so much_

_At long last love has arrived_

_And I thank God I'm alive_

_You're just too good to be true_

_Can't take my eyes off you_

Just like Heath Ledger, God rest his soul, Bakugo slides into the amphitheater, down the speaker mounted pole from the sound booth. He's _actually _singing, not just playing the original song, and Izuku is honestly baffled. He's not a bad singer, either. Then, the schools marching band materializes to back him up.

_I love you baby_

_And if it's quite all right_

_I need you baby_

_To warm the lonely nights_

_I love you baby_

_Trust in me when I say_

_Oh pretty baby_

_Don't bring me down I pray_

_Oh pretty baby_

_Now that I've found you stay_

_And let me love you, baby_

_Let me love you_

The music cuts to an instrumental break, and Bakugo makes a show of dancing up and down the long steps, proving that he's not only athletic, but rhythmically inclined as well. At first, he moves around almost self-consciously, but when his eyes meet his, he seems to get more confident, his handsome smirk growing all the while.

_You're just too good to be true_

_I can't take my eyes off you_

_You'd be like heaven to touch_

_I wanna hold you so much_

_At long last love has arrived_

_And I thank God I'm alive_

_You're just too good to be true_

_Can't take my eyes off you_

He walks down the steps, making clear he's headed for Izuku. He feels the need to bolt, but Uraraka's arm is still linked in his and she keeps him in place. Izuku is flustered and—in spite of his better judgement—slightly flattered, but he _knows _none of this is real. That out of control feeling hits him again, and he wants to scream. Bakugo has finished his song and dance and he's only a few steps away from him now. Uraraka squeezes his arm, but steps away from him, so he's all alone in the center of the amphitheater. Just him and his looming suitor.

"Izuku Midoriya," Bakugo speaks into the microphone, clear as day, and he only just stops himself from jumping and running away. When Bakugo says his name—his _real_ name—it feels like time stops. Maybe he should just accept his fate and go along with this because at least he's getting lunch and a pretend friend out of all this. Maybe he can be difficult and milk this moment for all it's worth—bleed Bakugo dry, like Uraraka said, since he's obviously desperate enough for him to say yes. Maybe he can be in on the prank, control the narrative, change his fate.

_Take him to the cleaners, _Uraraka's voice bounces around in his head as he looks in Bakugo's eyes.


	6. Easy A

Deku stares at him coolly. He's not giving anything away. Katsuki just sacrificed all his cool points on the altar of high school embarrassment, and Deku has very little to say about it. Finally, he puts Katsuki out of his misery. He looks almost smug, one corner of his mouth turned up—it's not quite a smile, though.

"What do you win if I go to the prom with you?" He crosses his arms, and it's the closest he's ever looked to confident as he waits for Katsuki to answer.

"The pleasure of an evening spent in your company," he says smoothly, taking inspiration from Heath Ledger.

"Uh-huh, and what else?"

"Why are you so convinced there's a bet?"

"Because no one in their right mind would put this much effort into spending time with me if there wasn't something big riding on it," he says, like it not the saddest, most self-deprecating thing he's ever said.

"Anyone ever tell you that you have self-esteem issues?"

Deku practically scoffs, but he ignores Katsuki's attempt at deflecting.

"It's for money, right? I want in. Half of whatever you win. And you can up the ante however you see fit, for more money, as long as I get an even share."

Katsuki blinks at Deku for a solid thirty seconds. It just doesn't compute. It could've been this simple the whole fucking time? Katsuki just embarrassed himself by singing karaoke in front of the entire school to get Deku to prom, and all he had to do this entire time was _pay _him? Katsuki is enraged for about five seconds, and then he decides that he has no right to be upset when he's getting exactly what he wants.

"Yeah. Okay. That's… that sounds good."

"How many yearbooks did you go through to figure out my name?"

Katsuki considers lying. He really does, but something about this side of Deku has him blurting out the truth.

"Eight." His mouth curls in a smirk. He doesn't feel embarrassed at all, and he can't decide if it's because he just performed in front of the whole school to get Deku's attention, or if he's just floored by the honesty between them. He feels electric, like he just stuck a fork in an open socket, but it's probably just adrenaline or endorphins or whatever. Deku's eyes shift slightly, and it's the first time he's looked away from him since he queued up that song.

"Your friends are watching," he whispers, and it's only then that he realizes how close they're standing to one another, Katsuki looming over him from atop the first row of bleachers.

"Ignore them. I always do."

"What needs to happen for us to win the bet?"

"Dinner, tuxes, all that prom shit. And a kiss, I guess, but I could probably get us out of tha—" Katsuki can't finish his sentence because Deku grabs the front of his letterman jacket and yanks him closer to him. Before he even knows what's happening, they're kissing. Katsuki pulls away before it can be any more than a peck, and he's about to yell when Deku fixes him with a serious stare.

"Fine. See you at prom, then. You're paying for everything, obviously," he says, and Katsuki can faintly hear his friends whooping and cheering and cackling. Deku starts to walk away, his allotment of cool confidence spent, but then he stops, looking nervous for the first time since Katsuki stopped singing. "Um, I want the GameBoy, too," he says, fiddling with the sleeves of his long sleeve shirt. "Please."

Katsuki stares after his retreating back, fighting the swarm of bees suddenly buzzing in his stomach.

_He fucking kissed me, _he thinks, a sick sense of wonder coating the thought. What's even more surprising is that he didn't hate it. Not at all.

—

Izuku walks away with a head full of cotton and regret and… _fireworks._ He's buzzing, walking on air, and yet, still somehow chained to the ground by the clinging anxiety that follows him everywhere. He didn't mean to do that. He just… wanted to get it over with. That was his first kiss, but, realistically, how many chances was he going to get to do that? It was better to make it happen on his own terms than under someone else's bet stipulations. His own agency sends a thrill up his spine.

He can feel the dumb smile slowly spreading across his face, liquid and syrupy, and so, _so_ wrong. He kissed Bakugo Katsuki, and he got away with it. Izuku feels like he should receive an award for such a feat, an odd feeling of triumph flooding through him.

"De—_Izuku, _wait up! Christ, you're fast."

There it is, the bucket of ice water that knocks him back into reality. His grin drops off his face. How did he think he could get away with it? Bakugo's never actually physically harmed him, but then again, Izuku's never kissed him out of the blue. His shoulders tense, falling so easily back into the hunched, huddled posture, praying that nothing bad will happen.

Bakugo catches up, looking a bit harried and off-kilter. Izuku involuntarily relaxes a bit when nothing happens. Bakugo walks beside him, just like he has almost every day for the last couple of weeks. Pristine white Adidas and old, red sneakers. Izuku's not sure why his body thinks Bakugo isn't a threat. Immersion and constant exposure, maybe. It's instinct, but he wants it to go away. He clears his throat, looking for that deep, nearly dried up well of confidence he pulled out of himself only a few minutes ago.

"I don't think we're on a first name basis," he mumbles, keeping his eyes trained on everything but the person he's speaking to.

"You just kissed me," Bakugo says, as if that means anything. It _doesn't._

"For the bet," he says quickly. "We have to be convincing, right? Make them think I believe all this?"

Bakugo doesn't say anything, and Izuku is trying not to look at him, for fear of the disgust or regret he'd probably see in his sharp, vermillion eyes. A warm, calloused palm finds its way into his hand, and Izuku flinches. He pulls his hand to his chest like Bakugo burned him.

"Wh-what are you doing?" Izuku stutters. He looks up at him for the first time and finds the lightest shade of pink on the tips of his ears. He's flustered.

"You're the one who wanted to be _convincing,"_ he barks, clearly lashing out in embarrassment.

"Is that part of the bet? Fake dating?" He squints at Bakugo, the same way he used to squint at his Rubik's cube before he finally solved it without a cheat. He wonders, briefly, how long his daily life will be filled with romantic comedy cliches.

"Could be. Kirishima would probably get a good laugh out of it."

Izuku frowns. The last thing on his mind is making some meathead jock laugh at his expense. But if there's a chance that it'll pay off, well…

"How much?" He blurts out, consumed with thoughts of all the groceries he could buy, and bills he could pay with Kirishima's dirty money.

"You're really serious about this?" Bakugo asks, eyebrows furrowed. Izuku wants to stick a quarter in the deep groove in the center of his forehead, just to see if it will stay put.

"I may as well get something out of this. It's not everyday that bullies are willing to pay me." Izuku shrugs.

"We're not _bullies,"_ Bakugo says, affronted. Izuku fights the urge to roll his eyes. They've made it across the school, now, coming to a stop right in front of the lockers. Izuku needs to grab his books. Before he opens his locker, he levels Bakugo with a searching stare.

"Then, what are you?"

He lets his stare linger, taking in his flummoxed, angry expression. The groove in Bakugo's forehead somehow deepens when he seems to realize he has nothing to say for himself, or his idiot friends. Izuku turns away, fiddling with his locker combination and switching out his books. Bakugo remains silent through the whole thing, and Izuku thinks he may have broken him. Finally, after he closes his locker, book in hand, Bakugo speaks.

"You hungry?"

There's a softness in his eyes that Izuku viscerally reacts to. His stomach flips and sways and jumps up into his throat. He can't speak, but he's always hungry, so he nods. Bakugo holds his hand out expectantly, and Izuku stares at it, not quite sure what to do. Does he expect them to hold hands again? Izuku might actually combust if that happens.

"Give me your books," he says plainly, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. He actually rolls his eyes this time, remembering Bakugo's odd ideas of courtship, and places the book in his hand with the faintest smile.

—

"You take French?" Katsuki asks, eyeing the textbook on the table. Deku shrugs and takes a bite out of his sandwich.

"_C'est la vie."_

"La vie."

Deku gives him a look like he's the dumbest motherfucker on the planet, and Katsuki can't help but snicker.

"I know what it means. It was a joke."

Deku _hmms_ noncommittally, and Katsuki knows he's losing interest fast. The thought shocks something like needy embarrassment out of him. He can feel himself scrambling for something to say to keep his attention, to keep his big, green eyes on him.

"So, what should I call you?"

"Huh?"

"You said I can't call you Izuku, so what should I call you? Midoriya?"

There's a faint blush on Deku's cheeks when he says his name, and Katsuki finds that he likes that color. It brings out his freckles, and makes his cheeks look a little less hollowed out, the sleepy bags under his eyes a little less noticeable. It makes him look _alive._

"C-call me Deku. Everyone else does," he says, stuttering for the second time that day. Katsuki fights a smirk, but he can't really stop it. A wolfish grin spreads across his face, and he leans just a bit closer to Deku, and finds his eyes staring minutely at his lips. There's a little breadcrumb on the corner of his mouth, so Katsuki wipes it away with a soft brush of his thumb. Deku's cheeks get a little pinker, his Adam's apple bobbing with a nervous gulp.

"_Hmm. _I'll think about it."

Katsuki thinks, just for a moment, that he's finally got this whole flirting thing down. He doesn't think too hard about the fact that he _likes _flirting with Deku, and staring at his lips, and being close enough to him to feel the faintest puff of his exhale as he gives little, surprised gasp.


	7. My Best Friend's Prom Date

**YALL I GOOFED! i am so sorry. i recently realized that i never posted chapter four: mean girls. pls forgive my dumbassery. its since been corrected, and i hope it makes the story make a bit more sense!**

**xo katya**

**—**

****"Alright, Shitty Hair, here's the deal: I want more."

"Huh?" Eijiro asks, distracted. Bakugo tosses the medicine ball they've been using with more force than necessary, and it pegs him square in the chest. He coughs out a gasp.

"The bet, dumbass. I've already embarrassed the hell out of myself with all the fucking work I'm putting in."

"The deal was to get him to prom. Not my fault he's stubborn!" Eijiro tosses the ball back, though not as harshly. Bakugo catches it with ease, his hands clenching around the ball with minute fury.

"Well, the deal is changing. What'll I get if I get him to date me?"

Eijiro squints at his best friend, like he's not sure if there's been some kind of _Invasion of the Body Snatchers _business going on behind the scenes.

_Who are you and what have you done with my grumpy, antisocial best friend, _he thinks. Bakugo doesn't like to expend a ton of effort on people—especially people he doesn't actually care about. Upping the ante on the bet to include full-fledged dating is the most un-Bakugo thing in the world.

"Why would you want to do that?" Eijiro blurts out, knowing he's just pissed Bakugo off with his careless word choice. As expected, Bakugo grunts and throws the medicine ball like he's about to make the winning throw in a dodgeball tournament. Eijiro doesn't even try to catch it. He literally ducks out of the way, and the ball hits the free weights set.

"Bro! Chill out. You trying to kill me?"

"Fuck off! I've already got him to agree to prom and I've got to keep things interesting!"

"Is being a soccer star and a straight A student really that boring?"

Bakugo rolls his eyes, but he doesn't say anything. He stomps around the bench between them to start picking up the free weights he knocked over, setting them down with careless annoyance. While the free weights _clank _and _thud, _Kirishima thinks on what he said. Going to prom with Deku seems harmless, but dating him? That's verging on manipulative. He's got nothing against the little nerd, and he doesn't want to actually hurt his feelings.

"Are you sure that's a good idea, man? He already kissed you. You shouldn't lead him on like that."

"Exactly. If he's going to be fawning all over me, I may as well be getting paid for it. So, do we have a deal?"

Kirishima purses his lips, battling between his sense of manliness and his desire to be entertained by Bakugo's general lack of romantic know-how. Chivalry—or some low key modern day equivalent of it—wins out.

"Don't you think that's taking it too far?"

Bakugo glares at him, depositing the last weight with an eerie crash.

"No, I don't. S'not like you really care, anyway. What's Deku matter to you, in the long run?"

Bakugo's words are harsh, but there's something like hesitancy behind them. His mouth is puckered, like the words themselves are sour on his tongue. Eijiro knows Bakugo isn't the nicest guy around, but he's never been intentionally cruel. He feels like he's missing something, like he's on the outs. Eijiro narrows his eyes.

"You really want to date him?"

Bakugo blanches at the insinuation. He recognizes the tell-tale blush and the flustered spluttering. He's embarrassed.

"'Course not! Fuck you, Shitty Hair."

Eijiro does his best to hide a sly smile. Bakugo may be withholding and grumpy, and he may believe that Eijiro is dumber than a sack of rocks, but he sees things. He's known Bakugo long enough to know when he's hiding something. He's seen him staring after Deku whenever they're not together. He's noticed the extra lunches he's been bringing to school. The entire student body is still talking about his musical debut in the amphitheater. Maybe Bakugo needs something like the excuse of a bet to let himself go after what he really wants.

"Fine. Date him, then. Double or nothing?" Eijiro extends a hand out to his best friend. Bakugo grins viscously back.

"Triple." They clasp hands, and Eijiro is absolutely certain he'll be losing this bet.

—

Eijiro and the rest of their lunch group watches as Bakugo makes a beeline for Deku's dumpster table. Yaomomo huffs.

"You need to stop this bet before Bakugo takes it too far." She glares at Eijiro. He ignores her heated stare in favor of watching the two new lovebirds. Bakugo _definitely_ has a crush. Deku is far more subdued, but he gives a shy little wave before returning back to his book. He doesn't flinch when Bakugo sits next to him.

"Look! They both look happy! When have you ever seen Bakugo make _that _face?"

He points surreptitiously and a softly smiling Bakugo. Deku looks mildly terrified, but he always looks that way. Eijiro notices how close they sit now, their thighs touching. They used to sit farther apart. If they were any closer, Deku would be in Bakugo's lap.

"What you're doing is cruel," she says, completely ignoring Bakugo's rare smile. Eijiro frowns at Yaomomo. He can't exactly out his friend's ulterior notices. That'd be super unmanly—and Bakugo would certainly maim him.

"I disagree," Uraraka chimes in. "I talked to Midoriya a few days ago."

Eijiro wrinkles a brow in confusion at the unfamiliar name before he remembers that _Deku_ is just a nickname. She seems to note his confusion, but doesn't do anything to clarify.

"He said his bullies don't bother him as much since Bakugo's always around."

"Like a guard dog," he says, laughing just a little. Yaomomo's scowl deepens. Todoroki takes her hand, but doesn't contribute to the conversation. He never speaks much.

"More like a wolf in sheep's clothing. It'll just get worse after prom when he leaves him high and dry."

"Who says they have to stop being friends?"

"They're not _friends._ Friends don't use people for a bet."

Uraraka hides a small, secretive grin behind her palm, and Kirishima feels like he's missing something. Does she know? She says nothing, so he looks over at Bakugo and Deku again, just for something to do, and he sees Bakugo hand him a paper sack. Making him lunches is in no way part of the bet, but he's continued to do it every day for weeks now.

"I think everything will be just fine."

Eijiro decides to be a bro and do everything he can to help Bakugo. Well, everything he can do to help Bakugo without him knowing.

—

"Hi!" Eijiro immediately regrets speaking at his normal volume when Deku flinches so violently he actually knocks himself into his locker door. "Ah, my bad, man."

Deku looks about five seconds away from climbing into his own locker just to get away from him. He's so skittish, like a doe, or a rabbit. How the hell does Bakugo manage to talk to him?

Deku busies himself with fumbling through the belongings in his locker and shoving them into his threadbare yellow backpack. He very blatantly avoids eye contact.

"So, you're going to prom with Bakubro, yeah?"

Deku stares, his big eyes unnerving. He nods slowly. Eijiro nods too, mostly because he doesn't know how to hold a conversation with someone who doesn't speak.

"Well, that's great! Bakugo's great, I mean. I was thinking we could all go get fitted for our tuxes together. Or, like, go on a double-date? You two, with Mina and me? Mina's my girlfriend. She's on the dance team," Eijiro says, fully aware that he's rambling, but incapable of stopping.

Deku closes his locker, face a carefully blank mask.

"Um," Deku says, clearly trying to find a way to cut and run.

"Kirishima," Bakugo bellows from behind him. Eijiro turns to see his best friend standing menacingly at the end of this row of lockers. He bulldozes past him, almost shielding Deku from him. Eijiro frowns.

"Ignore him. He's an idiot," Bakugo says to Deku in an unnaturally soft voice. He holds out a hand, and Deku doesn't think twice before giving him his backpack. Bakugo hoists it up on his shoulder by one strap, and Deku shuffles away.

"I'll catch up. Gimme a second," Bakugo barks. Deku doesn't show any sign of acknowledgement, but from what Eijiro can tell that's not out of the ordinary.

"What the fuck?"

Eijiro refocuses on his irate best friend. He gives him a big, shit-eating grin in an attempt to diffuse the tension.

"I'm wingmanning!"

"_Don't,"_ he hisses. He averts his eyes, looking flustered again, before speaking. "He's shy. Just leave him alone."

Eijiro smiles at the underlying care Bakugo shows. He _1000%_ has a big, _fat_ crush.

"_Alright,"_ he sing-songs. "Go get your man, bro."

Bakugo shoulder checks him on his way out of the lockers, but the blotchy flush on his neck is unmistakable.


	8. The Breakfast Club

Katsuki gets to school early and finds Deku walking toward the cafeteria. He stops in his tracks as soon as Deku spots him, and turns around to leave. Katsuki grabs the handle on his backpack to keep him from running.

"I know about the food thing, Deku. Just eat."

Deku looks at him with something like betrayal and minute annoyance before he shakes off Katsuki's hand and heads to the empty lunch line. He comes back looking pleased, with two giant foil wrapped burritos in his hand.

"You can eat all that this early in the morning?" Katsuki doesn't say it with disgust, but Deku still gives him a self-conscious, pouty glare. It's well and truly pathetic, but it's also endearingly cute.

"Miss Midnight always gives me extra food when she works in the mornings," he mumbles, as if that answers his question. He unwraps one of the burritos and digs in with his usual frenzied gusto. Katsuki wonders what he eats for dinner if he wakes up this hungry. He decides asking about it would only embarrass Deku.

Katsuki slides the GameBoy across the table, nudging it into Deku's hand, just like he did the last time. There's no promposal note inside it now, and he knows Deku actually wants it now, so he has no idea why the act makes him so nervous. He watches as Deku runs a finger over the smooth, black plastic. The corners of his mouth tick upward, and Katsuki waits with bated breath for a smile. Imagine his chagrin when he frowns instead.

"Can you hold onto it until after school?"

"Why?"

"I don't want to break it," he mumbles, staring at the mushy egg in his half-eaten breakfast burrito.

"You won't. I trust you."

"Please, just hold onto it until the end of the day," he snaps. Katsuki's taken aback by it. He thought they'd be on better terms, now that the bet is out in the open.

"Fine. Play it now, though, if you want," he says, huffing an annoyed sigh.

Part of him hopes he won't play it, that he'll give him his undivided attention, but Katsuki knows better than that. Deku doesn't waste any time. He opens the GameBoy and powers it on. The volume is on the loudest setting and Katsuki hears a familiar ping before Deku mutes it.

"Old save file," he mumbles, fiddling around with the buttons.

"You can delete it."

"Are you serious? A level 97 Charizard, and everything else is like level 40? Did you even train these?" Deku looks severely disappointed, and Katsuki feels the need to defend himself. He never thought he'd be getting into an argument about Pokemon, of all things, but there they are.

"Charizard is the end all, be all of badass Pokemon! I didn't need anyone else!"

"Oh, yeah? Is that why you quit right before the Elite Four?" Deku smirks—honest to god _smirks—_and Katsuki is momentarily stunned by it. It's tantalizingly close to a genuine smile and something in Katsuki's chest bursts just looking at it. After an overlong silence, Deku clears his throat, frowning again.

"Anyway, I'm deleting it. Your technique is trash."

He does so while wolfing down his breakfast, as Katsuki tries to find something to say.

"Talked to Kirishima. We're looking at a big payout if we win the bet."

Katsuki's not sure how he managed to pull off getting Kirishima to agree to a triple or nothing bet, but he's not about to question it. He said a lot of mean shit about Deku to throw Kirishima off, but he kind of feels like he's doing this _for_ Deku now. Katsuki doesn't need the money, he was always more interested in the bragging rights and the superiority that came with winning.

"What are the stakes?"

"Dating." His face feels hot just saying that. How's he going to actually do it? Luckily, Deku isn't looking at him.

"Is that why he asked me if we wanted to double-date with him and Ashido?"

"He _what?"_

"Yesterday, at the lockers." Deku seems shockingly cavalier about the whole conversation, and Katsuki finds himself a bit disappointed by how little Deku cares.

"Ignore him," he mutters. His face is well and truly on fire, now. A double-date would be terrible, right? He imagines seeing Deku outside of school—going to a movie or dinner, holding hands.

"As you said." Deku's lackluster response pops that idyllic little bubble in his head. Deku would never go for that.

"So, are you in?"

"I said I was, didn't I?"

"You really need the money that bad?"

Deku looks up for the first time, staring at him, momentarily distracted from the GameBoy. His mouth puckers in a harsh frown.

"Yeah," he mutters, making it clear Katsuki shouldn't ask more. Katsuki ignores the warning in his eyes.

"Why's that?"

"Why do you need to know?"

"Well, we're in this together, right?"

Deku's eyes tighten, narrowed with distrust. He looks down at the last nub of his free breakfast burrito.

"I'm sure you know already. What with all the charity lunches you've been giving me," he says, and there's a fierce edge in his voice—an edge that dares Katsuki to say anything slightly scathing, or anything remotely close to pitying.

"I just know that I bring you lunch," he lies. Deku sighs, and Katsuki knows he doesn't believe him for a second, but he still speaks.

"My mom died. Money's been tight since then."

"What about your dad?" Katsuki asks, hoping for more honesty, but not holding his breath. Deku scoffs unkindly.

"You think I'm useless, you should meet him."

Katsuki's struck by the honesty, as he often is where Deku is concerned. The blatant self-deprecation yanks on heartstrings he never knew he had. It's obvious just how little Deku thinks of himself.

"I don't think you're useless," he says, and it's practically a whisper. Deku curls in on himself, refocusing on his game, and Katsuki knows honesty hour is over. He decides right then to give Deku the entirety of the money they win from the stupid bet—even the part that's supposed to cover prom expenses.

Katsuki zones out for a while, messing around on his phone. He's learned to take comfort in Deku's silence. It no longer feels awkward, but that doesn't mean he'd rather dick around on his phone than get to know him a bit better.

"Um, Bakugo," Deku mumbles. Katsuki looks up, immediately focusing on him, waiting.

"Will you hold on to this, too? I'm—I'd like to save it for later." Deku indicates his uneaten burrito, sliding it and his GameBoy across the table. The bell must be about to ring. Katsuki takes it.

"Only if you tell me why."

Deku pouts again, and Katsuki can't help but notice how pink and full his lips are. He still can't believe Deku kissed him. That day feels like a far off fever dream, not something that only happened last week.

"People take my stuff, or break it. It's easier if there's nothing for them to ruin."

Deku won't look at him, something like shame or embarrassment drawing him into a hunch. Katsuki puts Deku's things in his backpack without complaint and stands, ready to start the school day. Deku does the same, but before he can hoist his backpack on his shoulder, Katsuki takes it from him and throws it over his own shoulder. Deku doesn't look half as annoyed as he usually does when Katsuki carries his things. Still, he offers a weak protest.

"I can carry my own backpack."

Katsuki ignores him because he can't think of anything to say. All he can think is that, if Katsuki is carrying his stuff, no one will get a chance to ruin them.

—

Izuku makes the mistake of thinking the day is off to a good start. He got to speak to Miss Midnight, his favorite lunch lady, and she told him he looked handsome today. She's always kind to him, slipping him extra food and plying him with compliments. Usually, he takes those compliments with a grain of salt, but even he's noticed that he looks different lately. It's amazing what a few extra lunches can do. His face looks fuller, his skin less sallow. He doesn't feel so bone tired by the end of the day, and he's found himself in better spirits more often than not.

And his GameBoy! He's excited to have something to fill up his time with. He likes his history book, but he can only read it so many times before he stops finding new, fascinating tidbits to memorize. It burns him up to know his good mood is unequivocally owed to Bakugo. Yes, he's only doing it to win a bet, but Izuku can't argue with the slight increase in his quality of life. And then, there's the butterflies. He can't even look at Bakugo when they talk to each other. He gets nervous and clammy and his heart threatens to beat out of his chest. He's too handsome, and Izuku hates himself for falling victim to his charm. Bakugo is somehow sweet, even when he's being a grumpy shithead. Izuku wants to thank him for everything he's doing, but every time he gets close to doing so, he remembers that none of it is real. Bakugo has his own reasons for playing along, and he shouldn't get his thanks.

He can see him now, waiting for him at their lunch spot—_his_ lunch spot, Izuku corrects himself immediately. When all this is over, Bakugo will go back to his table, and it'll be like none of this ever happened. Its best not to get used to the new routine. Still, he walks on, wondering what snack Bakugo packed in his lunch today.

Then, Chisaki walks by, and upends the drink cup in his hand. Izuku feels the cold slush of a cherry icee collide with his face. The syrup burns his eyes, and little flecks of ice drip from his curls. His shirt is soaked, and Izuku should've known better than to jinx himself by saying today was a good day. Izuku doesn't get to have good days, and the thought is so incongruous with how he felt only a few seconds ago, that his tear ducts start burning. For a second, he's grateful for all the excess liquid on his face. No one will see his pathetic, little tears.

—

Katsuki sees it before Deku seems to. He's on his feet before Deku even registers that Chisaki, the fucking degenerate, is passing by him. He's not fast enough. Deku recoils as the red liquid slaps him square in the face. Katsuki barrels into Chisaki and knocks him on his ass. He's seething, rage coming off him in waves and all Katsuki wants to do is beat the everloving shit out of him. Yet, despite his grumpy nature and his way with curse words, he's actually a bit of a goody goody. He's never had a detention, and getting into a fight with a teammate could jeopardize his spot on the team. Katsuki's too selfish. He hesitates, grumbling all the while.

"Get the fuck out of my sight."

Chisaki snickers and slithers off like the fucking snake he is, and Katsuki relishes the thought of sending a soccer ball straight at his crotch at practice later. He focuses back on Deku, his worn out shirt covered in sticky red dye. He's shivering slightly, and he can't tell if that's because he's cold, or because he's crying. His eyes look far away and his lip wobbles and Katsuki is so unprepared to handle it.

"Deku," he says, but he's got no follow up. Katsuki's shit at being a comforting presence, so he does the only thing he can think of. He takes Deku's hand and drags him to the locker room to help him clean up. He's got extra clothes and a clean towel in his locker. Deku just stands there, slightly shell shocked, his wet curls dripping in his eyes. He tosses an old T-shirt at him. Deku holds the shirt away from him, examining it.

"I can't wear this," he says, in a broken little mumble.

"Yes, you can. You're soaked," Katsuki says evenly. He doesn't want to get into another fight about handouts. He doesn't want Deku walking around all day with a slushee stain—a literal reminder of his bullying, a scarlet mark.

"No," he says vehemently, and tosses the shirt back at Katsuki. He's clutching his right arm, wrinkling the damp fabric. His breath is short and strained—panicked.

"What's wrong? It's just a shirt, Deku." It's a damn good shirt, too. His Aji-Fry shirt is worn in the best way, softened by years of use.

"I just can't wear it. I need longer sleeves."

"_Why?"_ Katsuki practically growls, his stomach dropping low in dread. He can't help it, he's afraid of where this conversation could be going. Deku doesn't hate his life that much, right? Suddenly, he realizes that in all this time, he's never seen Deku in short sleeves, even though it's spring and the weather is getting progressively hotter. Warning bells ring in his head, and he has to stop himself from grabbing Deku and yanking his sleeve up. Deku seems to sense his distress.

"My arm is ugly. I don't want anyone to see it. _I _don't like looking at it." He's rubbing his bicep again, like it's a stain he can wipe away. Nothing he says makes Katsuki feel any better.

"What do you mean?"

"It got mangled in the accident. It's bad," he whispers, looking ashamed. Katsuki's chest clenches painfully. He can't relate to trauma like that—to hating a part of his body. All he can do is face the problem head on. He shrugs out of his letterman jacket and holds it out to Deku, along with the Aji-Fry shirt.

"Wear this, then."

Deku's eyes go comically wide at his offering, and Katsuki's heartbeat stutters in his chest.

"Go clean up. I'll wait for you here." Katsuki reflects on the softness of his voice, the supportive lilt. He's never sounded like that before. Maybe that's why Deku doesn't argue with him.


	9. To All the Boys I've Loved Before I

People part for him during the crowded passing period. When they look at him, and the jacket—a cliched high school status symbol, if there ever was one—it's with jealousy, or awe, not a trace of the usual disdain or disinterest. It's an intoxicating feeling.

And it's all bullshit.

Still, it's hard not to lean into how safe he feels in Bakugo's gigantic letterman jacket. It's like a shield, or something—a magical piece of fabric that prevents others from touching him. He hasn't crossed paths with Chisaki or Shimura yet, but he hopes this stupid jacket is enough to keep them off his back. He doesn't know what he'll do if Bakugo's jacket gets ruined. He can't afford to dry clean it, much less replace it. In elementary school, Shimura loved to ruin his clothes. He'd burst the ink in pens and rub it all over his back, or write vulgar things in permanent marker. Once, in eighth grade, he held him down and cut off about five inches from the bottom of his shirt. He walked around all day with his midriff exposed and everyone called him different variations of gay and girly and slutty. Izuku mostly spent the day tugging his shirt down, and being thankful that he hadn't cut his sleeves.

Words hurt, but the worst part was always going home. His dad was a bit more aware back then, a little less boozed up, and always angry about money. He'd admonish Izuku for being so lax with his things, try to impress upon him how little they had, and remind him that money and clothes didn't grow on trees—as if Izuku needed reminding. He used to try to defend himself. He used to try to tell him about his bullies, but it was pretty apparent that his dad didn't care. His dad hasn't cared about him in a very long time, and Izuku finds that he cares less about him every day. Senior year is almost over, and Izuku dreams of getting out. There's a little piece of him—a little piece of him that is most certainly leftovers of a naive, grieving little boy—that worries what will become of his father when he leaves him in the dust, but if his father can understand anything, it's immense selfishness. It's Izuku's turn to be selfish, and Hisashi's turn to be left in the lurch.

—

There's something about seeing Katsuki's own name splashed across Deku's back that reminds him he's descended from cavemen. He feels something primal stir inside him, something preening and possessive that says _that's mine_ and _don't touch. _Deku is the furthest thing from being his, and he knows this, but the thought still persists.

He also looks damn cute in it. It's at least two sizes too big for him. He's swimming in it, and he looks so small, Katsuki considers picking him up, just to know how light he feels in his arms. Deku would probably punch him for doing something like that, and something about that makes him want to do it even more.

"So, this… fake dating thing," Deku says when they meet up after school. Katsuki passes him his GameBoy and his cold burrito. Deku takes it with a pleased quirk in his lips—not a smile, but Katsuki's starting to wonder if he even knows how to do that anymore. He wouldn't be surprised if the answer was no.

"What about it?"

"I want to set some ground rules."

"Go on," Katsuki says, suddenly dreading whatever's coming next.

"Don't kiss me."

"You've already kissed me," he says, doing a poor job of hiding the disappointment in his tone. Deku shrugs.

"I just wanted to get it over with. Now, we won't have to do it again. That… that's something I don't want to fake."

Katsuki grunts something like assent, his annoyance apparent. He won't pout about it. It's not a ridiculous request by any stretch of the imagination, and yet, Katsuki's finds hurt swelling within him. The reminder that all this is fake, that if Deku were to kiss him again, it wouldn't be real in any way, stings a bit. For that reason alone, for the fact that Deku has the power to potentially hurt and disappoint him, he agrees. It's probably best to keep this thing—this welling up of unwelcome fondness—at bay.

"Thank you for the jacket. I can bring it back tomorrow."

"No, keep it. Nothing says _dating_ like giving my letterman away, right?"

"I don't think that's a good idea. What if it gets ruined?"

"It's sturdy."

"What if it gets intentionally ruined?"

"Then I'll blame Chisaki. I'm going to cripple him in practice today, I can promise you that."

Deku's face contorts into some semblance of a smile, but he hides it in the shoulder of his jacket.

"I'd pay to see that."

"I'm sorry I didn't beat his ass when it happened. I… I didn't want to get in trouble."

"It's okay."

"It's not. You don't deserve that."

Deku shrugs and looks away, his cheeks the slightest shade of pink.

"I have to get to work."

"And I've got practice. I'll see you tomorrow, though?"

Katsuki berates himself for asking such an idiotic question. Of course, they'll see each other. It's not like school is optional. Deku nods, and scampers off. Katsuki watches him go, that primal feeling of ownership hitting him again. He really does look nice in his jacket.

He heads off to the locker rooms again, ready to give Chisaki hell for upsetting his tiny, fake boyfriend. Tomorrow, they'll have to deal with prom shit, and the logistics of this thing they're doing for the bet, but for now, Katsuki lets himself lean into that warm feeling. He knows not to expect anything from Deku, but maybe, when all this is over, they can be friends. Maybe Deku will believe that he's helping him because he deserves to be cared for, and not for some dumb prank.

—

Izuku stuffs the letterman jacket in his bag before opening his front door. It's late, nearly eleven, but his dad doesn't keep regular hours, and he's too tired to fend off questions. He takes a deep breath and unlocks the door.

His dad is passed out on the couch, and Izuku hates that that's a comfort. He closes the front door and locks up. There's an impressive amount of locks on their shitty apartment door, and the clinking deadbolts do wonders for his nerves. He likes the routine of it. Six locks to latch. Three light switches to flick off. Make sure the oven is off, and there's no food in it—his dad tends to forget things like that. It wouldn't be the first time.

He closes himself in the bathroom, to wash off the lingering remnants of the day, the leftover stickiness of the syrupy dye. Izuku hasn't taken a regular shower in a long time. Showers are expensive, and he pinches pennies where he can. As he fills up the bucket in the bathtub with lukewarm water, he decides that the first thing he's going to do with the money from the bet is take a five minute shower, and maybe splurge on a meal that doesn't come in a freezer burned box, or a greasy paper bag.

He knows that money won't last long, but it might be enough to get him through the last few months of school if he plays it right. He removes his clothes, taking great care to be gentle with the shirt Bakugo loaned out. He's never been so embarrassed in his life, depending on Bakugo like that. It's one thing for him to bring him charity lunches, to allow himself to be bribed with pity gifts. Today, the locker room felt like something different.

Izuku's used to being brought low by the things bullies do to him. He used to people not caring. He'd rather people stand by and watch it happen than do what Bakugo did. It felt like care. Soft, kind care, and Izuku knows it's not real, but he'll miss it when it goes away. He washes himself, doing his best to banish those thoughts. He scrubs his scarred arm extra hard, like maybe he can wash that away too. The scrubbing only makes it uglier, his mottled scarred skin only looks more pink and irritated.

He can't believe he told Bakugo about it. He doesn't talk about his scars, or his parents, or the accident—but he talked to Bakugo about all three over the course of the day. An ugly sob catches in his throat at the thought. Izuku is getting too comfortable. All the walls he's built around himself come down when Bakugo looks at him, and he hates it. He hates how much he _wants _to talk to him, how much he craves that support and care and kindness, no matter how false it is. He thinks, bitterly, that maybe Bakugo would finally leave if he told him everything.

Maybe if he knew he spent what felt like an eternity crushed in the front seat of what used to be his mother's car, hanging upside down, the seat belt across his chest and the the pressure of the frame of some mangled part of the car sandwiching his arm in place the only things keeping gravity at bay. She died right in front of him, her face bruised and bleeding from colliding with the steering wheel. She died and he couldn't even reach across the center console to comfort her. She died when he was only eleven and she left him with a drunk, and if he lets himself think about it anymore he's going to lose it.

He puts Bakugo's T-shirt back on because it's soft, and because it smells clean. If he focuses hard enough he can smell him, that same oaken, fire burnt scent he caught on to when he kissed him. He dons a clean pair of boxers, and, in a moment of weakness, pulls the wadded up letterman jacket out of his backpack, and drapes it across his pillow. No one has to know he falls asleep with Bakugo's jacket pressed to his face, that same feeling of safety he felt in the school hallways blanketing him and allowing him to forget his shitty life, if only for a few hours.

—

Morning comes, and Izuku finds there's a new routine to get used to. Bakugo is in the cafeteria, sitting in the same spot as yesterday, waiting for him. He acknowledges him through eye contact only before sidling up to the lunch counter. Miss Midnight is there again, and he gives her a shy smile.

"Good morning," he mumbles. Miss Midnight gives him a yogurt cup, and far more granola than is probably the usual serving, along with a banana and a carton of chocolate milk.

"Hello, handsome. I see your friend is back today," she says, pointedly looking over his shoulder at Bakugo. She smiles, almost mischievously, and Izuku feels a blush creep up his neck.

"Yeah. He's… um, yeah. Thank you," he splutters.

"You're welcome, sweetheart. Have a good day."

Izuku makes his way to his table and seats himself across from Bakugo.

"Morning," he says casually. Izuku's heart immediately vacated his chest cavity and finds a new home in the base of his throat. He's too handsome. Izuku curses Bakugo, his parents, and the genetic lottery they seemed to win when they made him.

"Hi," he mutters, suddenly very focused on opening his yogurt cup.

"You look well-rested."

Izuku looks up in surprise. That sounded a lot like a compliment. Bakugo smiles at him, and it doesn't look quite natural, but even an odd smile looks good on him. Izuku just stares at him. This goes on for a ridiculously long time, and Bakugo's smile melts into something softer, less plasticky, until it goes away completely. They just stare in silence.

"Um, I have good news," he says, clearing his throat. Izuku digs into the yogurt he's all but forgotten about.

"Yeah?"

"Hell yeah. I broke Chisaki's nose yesterday. The fucker cried like a baby, and Coach only yelled at me for like five minutes." Bakugo grins viscously, his eyes glinting with pride, and Izuku clams up again, unable to say a word in the face of such blatant good looks. Bakugo goes on.

"He managed to block the ball when I kicked it at his nuts, but at least I got him. Hopefully, he learns his lesson and thinks twice before messing with you. I—"

"Thanks," he blurts out. He gives a shy smile, and Bakugo's sentence drops off entirely. More staring ensues.

"That's the first time I've ever seen you smile, you know," Bakugo says dazedly, breathing the words out. Izuku feels the ghost of cool breath on his face, and that's when he realizes they're both unconsciously leaning across the table. Izuku straightens, and Bakugo does the same when he realizes what happened. The rest of their time is spent in awkward silence. Izuku wolfs down his breakfast, stealing the occasional glance at his silent companion. The butterflies he's become so used to let loose in his gut every time he finds that Bakugo is stealing glances at him too.

—

Katsuki's flying high by the time they leave the cafeteria. He was pleased to see Deku wearing his letterman jacket this morning. He thought he would be too stubborn to wear it. His entire body burns with a wicked blush at the thought of Deku smiling at him. The day only gets better when Chisaki slinks by, a nasty bruise blooming out from the center of his stupid face. Katsuki smirks at the bandage across his nose, but Chisaki doesn't bother making eye contact with him. He sneers at Deku, and they're close enough to each other that he feels it when Deku goes stiff, and hunches his shoulders.

Katsuki, emboldened by Deku's rare smile and the letterman jacket on his small frame, sneers right back, and throws a possessive arm around him. Deku nearly flinches, but he also relaxes surprisingly fast. Katsuki feels warm and light again, his arm tightening just so until Chisaki disappears into a classroom.

"Um, you can let go now," Deku mumbles. For once, they're so close that Katsuki can actually hear him clearly.

"Nah. You better get used to this. We're dating now, remember?"

Deku gives a noncommittal _hmm, _but he doesn't move to disentangle himself. The inaction sends a thrill up Katsuki's spine. They're almost to Deku's classroom now, and the students they pass by near the lockers and in the quad make no effort to disguise their open-mouthed stares. Katsuki ignores them.

"You bring your GameBoy today? Want me to hang on to it?"

"I left it at home. Didn't want to risk it."

"Hmm. Bring it tomorrow. I'll keep it safe."

Katsuki wants to say _I'll keep you safe,_ but it seems too forward, and too much like a promise he might not be able to keep. That doesn't mean he doesn't want to try. They may not be dating, but maybe they're close to being friends. If anything, they're allies, and allies have each other's backs.

Deku feels stiff and uncomfortable under his arm, but he doesn't fight him off until they're in front of his classroom. Katsuki lets his arm hand by his side again, leaning down to bring his face closer to Deku's. He gives a strangled little gasp, his eyes wide as saucers when Katsuki tucks a stray curl behind his ear. He's glad he watched those stupid romantic movies Deku mentioned. He's channeling every high school heartthrob he can think of as he brings his mouth to Deku's ear.

"Try to relax. I'll see you later."

Deku licks his chapped lips, catching it between his teeth, and Katsuki's pulse quickens. He smirks, despite the fact that all his bones feel like jelly when Deku looks at him like that.

"See you at lunch."


	10. To All the Boys I've Loved Before II

"I was thinking," Bakugo says as he throws himself carelessly down to sit beside Izuku at lunch. "You should probably call me Katsuki. Bakugo is too formal."

"I think it's just formal enough," he says warily.

"Not now that we're _boyfriends."_

He says the word like it makes him nervous, or uncomfortable. He says it the way Izuku might say _pleasant social gatherings _or _loving father_—like it's a foreign, unwelcome concept. Izuku shrugs. He's just as uncomfortable—no matter how viscerally the creepy crawlies in his stomach wiggle around excitedly at the word, Izuku has no intention of allowing himself to get caught up in playing pretend.

"We're not boyfriends. Not really."

"No shit. We need to keep up appearances, though."

"What appearances? I don't talk to people. When will I ever need to say your name in front of anyone?"

"Tomorrow night. When you come to Yaomomo's party with me."

"_What?"_

"Want me to pick you up at your house, or would you like to meet at mine?" Bakugo hands his lunch over casually, as if he hasn't just dropped a nuclear bomb in Izuku's lap.

"I'd like to not go to any parties."

"Come on, Deku. Did you really think you'd get to pocket over a thousand bucks without putting some work in?"

Izuku chokes, his hands slightly crushing the paper bag in his grasp. _A thousand? As in, three zeroes before the decimal point?_

"A thousand dollars?"

"Mhmm. You know, I'm surprised you haven't asked how much you're going to win yet," he says, tearing into his turkey sandwich. Izuku is baffled, and also slightly mesmerized by Bakugo's throat as he swallows down his lunch.

"I—I didn't think about it. Honestly, I'd do it for a hundred dollars. God knows, I need it," he says, offhandedly. He's found himself doing this a lot—voicing the words he usually keeps in his head. It bothers him how easily he lets things slip to Bakugo. He laughs it off.

"You'd be a terrible prostitute."

Izuku makes a sound between a splutter and a squawk, embarrassment and rage coloring his cheeks a deep crimson.

"A prostitute?"

Is that in any way comparable to what he's doing? He's not… doing _that. _That's not part of the deal. He's just letting Bakugo dote on him a little. They kissed _once,_ and as far as Izuku is concerned that's all that'll happen between now and prom. Bakugo doesn't expect anything like that, right? He seems to sense his silent panicking, and he quickly works to retract his statement.

"That was a joke. Don't think about it too hard. _Please, _come to the party with me."

The plea catches him off guard. Izuku likes to think he's learned a thing or two about Bakugo in the few weeks he's spent hovering around Izuku. He doesn't seem like the type to ask nicely, much less beg.

"Why?"

"It won't be any fun without my cute, tiny boyfriend," he says, and Izuku is sure he'll explode if Bakugo ever says _cute, tiny, _and _boyfriend _in the same sentence ever again. "Also, Kirishima's on my ass about not bringing you around. I think he's suspicious."

"Is it… is it really that much money—even after your cut?"

He gives a noncommittal grunt, and Izuku is too preoccupied with the thought of _that _much money in his hand at once to realize he didn't really answer. That's more than two months of rent—the things izuku could _do_ with that much money astounds him. It even makes a night of socializing with jocks seem somewhat bearable.

"A thousand dollars," Izuku says dreamily. "And all I have to do is pretend you like me."

Bakugo opens his mouth to say something, but Izuku cuts him off.

"I'll do it. Don't come to my house, though."

"Yeah?" Bakugo asks, like he can't believe he actually agreed to it. He smiles almost tentatively, and Izuku has to look away. He's too goddamn handsome. Izuku nods, and he busies himself with demolishing his sandwich in a few hasty bites.

"So, just meet me at mine, I guess. My parents will be out of town this weekend, so no worries there. You can crash at my place after, if you want. Do you need to run interference with your dad?"

Izuku balks, first at the invitation for a _sleepover,_ and then at the assumption that Izuku even tells his father how he spends his time.

"He doesn't care," he says, averting his eyes and picking the last bit of sandwich bread in his hand.

"Oh. Well, okay."

The air between them is suddenly tense and awkward, and they both do their best to ignore it. It gives Izuku just enough time to start panicking.

"Um, Bakugo? What do people wear to parties?"

"Wear my Aji-fry shirt—long sleeve underneath—and the jeans you wore last week. The ones with the hole in the knee."

Izuku furrows his brows. He's surprised Bakugo pays that much attention to what he wears.

"Why those jeans?"

"They look good on you. Edgy, or whatever," Bakugo says, averting his eyes from Izuku. His ears are red. Izuku laughs, but it's slightly bitter. He wonders if Bakugo thinks he purposely bought them that way—frayed and ripped at the knees. In reality, they were just worn down by years of use, first by someone else, and then by him, secondhand. He nods, and it seems time to stop all conversation because Izuku is out of things to say, and Bakugo is pretty good about not forcing him to talk. After a long, almost comfortable silence, Bakugo ruins it by speaking.

"Think about what you'll call me. If Katsuki doesn't work, just come up with a nickname."

Izuku is so in his head at this point, he doesn't bother with his brain to mouth filter. He blurts out the first string of syllables that come to mind.

"Kacchan," he mumbles. Bakugo's ears turn red again, and he splutters. Izuku likes it when he's nervous. It makes it seem like they're not all that different from one another.

"Uh, yeah. That's...that's good."

—

"I can't believe I let this happen," Deku grumbles, his big eyes surveying the exterior of Yaomomo's palatial home. Katsuki will admit that it's an intimidating sight. Katsuki goes out on a limb and grabs Deku's hand. He flinches slightly, but he doesn't yank it away, the way he did in the past. Katsuki squeezes it slightly, both in an attempt to be comforting, and to make sure he doesn't pull away.

"It'll be fine. Just stick with me. We'll go in, talk to a few people, drink a beer, and get the fuck out."

"I'm not drinking," he says firmly, a hard edge in his eyes.

"That's fine," he says, gently squeezing his hand again. Deku lets his hand hang limp in his. It's like holding a dead fish—lifeless, cold, and clammy, but it's still kind of nice. Katsuki pulls his phone out of his pocket and swipes over to the camera app.

"Try not to look constipated," he says, and pulls Deku closer to him. He poses for the camera, throwing an arm around Deku and shoving his face into his bushy, green curls. He smells like spearmint, and Katsuki's guts twist at the proximity. Deku gives a little gasp as Katsuki snaps the photo. All his stupid friends take gooey selfies with their significant others. He sets the picture as his lock screen background. Now, anytime someone looks at his phone, they'll see him and Deku. Deku and Kacchan.

"It'll have to do. You could at least try to smile, you know?"

Deku looks more than a little dazed, freckled cheeks covered in splotchy crimson.

"S-sorry. I'm not used to that." He looks away, wringing his long sleeves anxiously. Katsuki's not sure if he means he's not used to smiling, or being fact that it's probably both urges Katsuki to use a softer voice.

"S'fine, Deku. Look, photographical proof of our undying love, or whatever." He angles his phone in Deku's direction, so he can see it. Deku's brows pinch together.

"I told you not to kiss me."

"I didn't."

"Your mouth touched me."

"That's kissing?"

"I-Isn't it?" Deku sounds unsure, and Katsuki probably knows just as much as he does about it, so he shrugs. The only person he's ever kissed was Shindo, and that was… different. There was no time to question what was happening with Shindo. They were both drunk, and Shindo was hot and incredibly forward, and Katsuki allowed himself to be pushed into some wayward bedroom in Camie's cavernous home. It was quick and sloppy and eventually evolved into something way more than kissing. Shindo has called it third base the second they were finished, and the fact that he happens to be on the baseball team made the statement even more cringe-worthy. What a douche.

Katsuki's ears feel hot remembering Shindo, but they feel like they might actually burn clean off his head when he fleetingly imagines doing _that_ with Deku—open mouths, tangling tongues, and hastily undone belt buckles. He shakes himself out of the fantasy, reprimanding himself for being a horny teenager.

"Whatever. Give me your phone."

"I don't have one."

"Shit, really?"

Deku seems to sense that it was a rhetorical question because he doesn't answer. Instead, he huffs a nervous sigh.

"Can we just get this over with?" He takes Katsuki's hand, and it's his turn to jolt in surprise. Deku almost yanks his hand back, but Katsuki holds firm, once the shock wears off.

"Let's go."

—

Walking into the party with Bakugo was like walking in with a golden ticket in his hands. He felt oddly special, watching the awed masses parted for them. Even with the booming music and the low lighting he saw people turning to their friends and whispering. He wonders if this act is really fooling anyone. Bakugo—_Kacchan_—seems surprisingly committed to keeping up appearances, but his own acting definitely leaves something to be desired. The thing is, Izuku has always wanted something like this to happen to him. He's whiled away his time with books and movies as an escape from his disappointing existence. He fell in love with sad, lonely protagonists, sharing in their joy when an unexpected love interest careened into their lives and made them feel loved.

Izuku never expected his life to mirror a romantic comedy, and he certainly never expected it to feel so awful. He's seen plenty of movies about fake dating—about the inevitable moment when it starts to feel too real, when their true feelings seep into insincere actions. Those movies always ended with a confession and a happy ending, but Izuku couldn't help feel like happy endings weren't meant for him. He thinks all chances of a happily ever after probably ended for him the day his mother died, or the first time he came home from school to see his father passed out in a puddle of vomit, beer cans and liquor bottles strewn all over the apartment.

"Hey, you alright?" Kacchan squeezes his hand, bringing him out of his sour thoughts. Kacchan looks nervous, trying to decipher his mood just by looking in his eyes. Izuku wonders what he sees.

"Just tired," he mumbles, looking at his shoes. He doesn't know how to say his friends exhaust him, that drunk people make him uncomfortable, that the relentless bass shaking the entire house brings his anxiety to a dizzying head. Kacchan pulls him into his side, and Izuku lets it happen. He goes one step further, and buries his face in his chest because he can smell him again, and it's clean and safe and if he closes his eyes he can pretend there aren't so many people around. If Kacchan is surprised by this in any way, he does a good job of going with it. His arm tightens around him, fingers reaching into his hair and massaging his scalp. It feels so good, Izuku could cry in front of this entire party. He stops himself, but it's a close thing.

"We'll leave soon. I'm gonna go to the bathroom, and then we can go."

Izuku nods and dislodges himself from his safe space, only slightly terrified of the prospect of standing around by himself while Kacchan does his business. Kacchan makes for the stairs, but not before saying something quietly to Kirishima. Probably something like _watch the nerd for me, _or something else equally embarrassing. He stands around, his hands feeling empty and fidgety as he watches Kacchan's friends sip from beer cans and red cups. Kirishima gives him a gracious, drunken smile, and Izuku can't help but refocus on his shoes.

"Hi," someone says, sidling up to him. It's so quiet, Izuku almost doesn't hear him. He looks up into mismatched eyes set deep in a scarred face. His features are still somehow delicate, even with the scarring. Izuku manages to twist his mouth into something of a smile, but it's more of a grimace. He's too nervous.

"I don't like parties, either. Too loud. Do you want something to drink?"

"I don't drink," he mumbles, fiddling nervously with his sleeves. It feels wrong to admit that around a thousand drunken teenagers.

"Me neither. There's water, soda, and juice in the kitchen. Gives you something to do with your hands," he says knowingly. "Come on, I'll show you."

Todoroki doesn't give him a chance to object, so he follows behind him, silently grateful for something to do. The kitchen is just as impressive as the rest of the house, but it's slightly quieter there, with less people. Todoroki opens the state of the art fridge, almost like a game show host, but far more shy and subdued.

Izuku grabs a bottle of water, and he thinks that's when Todoroki will abandon him, but he speaks instead.

"Your dad, right? That's why you don't drink?"

Izuku almost pops the cap off his bottle, he squeezes the plastic so tight. Todoroki gives him something of a sympathetic smile.

"Mine, too."

"Oh, sorry," he says, unsure of what to say. He sips his water, just for a second to gather his thoughts. Todoroki shrugs.

"Only a few more months, right?"

"Shoto, have you seen—Oh." Yaoyorozu Momo walks in, looking harried, with an armful of breakables clutched to her chest. She stops short when he makes eye contact with Izuku. She sighs, depositing everything on the counter.

"Why are you here, Deku?"

He's never actually spoken to Yaomomo, and hearing her now makes him glad for that. She sounds frustrated, and he can't for the life of him understand why she'd be frustrated with him. He clams up, unable to find his voice—unable to give an actual answer because, honestly, he can't think of a reason.

"Bakugo isn't doing this to be nice. I'm sorry, but you should know the truth," she says, voice marginally calmer than before, so measured and matter of fact. Izuku wants to roll his eyes. For a moment, annoyance and self-deprecation overrides his panic.

"I'm not as dumb as people seem to think I am. I _know_ Bakugo would never look twice at me."

"Then, why are you going along with it?" She seems baffled, like she can't imagine going along with something she doesn't believe it. She may think she's standing up for him, but this thing with Bakugo has been going on for over a month. She could've stopped this a long time ago, way before Izuku was in position to get a cut of the betting money. This is in no way comparable to when Uraraka came to him in the library. This doesn't feel like kindness, or an apology. This isn't an olive branch, and Yaomomo doesn't actually care about his feelings.

"I don't see how that's your business."

"Deku," she starts, but he's done with all of it. His nerves are frayed and he's tired of being meek.

"That's not my name," Izuku blurts, suddenly filled with quiet rage. What did she think she was accomplishing by trying to tell him this? Izuku understands the reality of his situation. No amount of pity lunches and pretty, devastatingly handsome smiles is going to trick him into believing any of what's happening is real. Yaomomo's intervention has nothing to do with him, and everything to do with clearing her own conscience.

"Thank you for trying to warn me, but I'd rather you just go back to pretending I don't exist," he murmured, wishing his voice was stronger, with more bite to it. He wishes, just for a moment, that he could be as outspoken and brash as Bakugo. The need to escape hits him with all the force of a speeding locomotive. "If you see Ka—Bakugo, tell him I went home."

—

There's a short line for the nearest bathroom, but Katsuki doesn't want to waste time fumbling through dark bedrooms with groping couples for an alternative. Deku's very clearly falling apart, and he doesn't want to leave him by himself for any more time than he has to. He reflects on how willingly Deku folded into him earlier, like he was hiding. It felt nice, but it also left him feeling incredibly guilty. He wouldn't mind hanging out with Deku outside of school again, but next time it should be somewhere quieter. He wonders if there's anything he could do to make Deku feel better—any place he could take him where he'd have _fun._

He waits impatiently for his turn, all the while thinking it would've been a better idea to just head outside and whip it out in a dark corner. He hopes Kirishima isn't too drunk to actually take care of Deku. _Finally, _a goddamn stampede of squealing girls flows out of the bathroom, like watching a horde of circus performers unpack from a clown car. He shoves past them unkindly and goes to shut the door behind him, only to find someone pushing it open on the other side.

"Occupied," he gripes, but his hands go slack on the door when he makes eye contact with Shindo. The hesitation allows him time to weasel his way in.

"I've been waiting for a chance to get you alone all night," he says—practically purring. Katsuki can't help it, his stomach flips. By the time Shindo puts his hands on Katsuki's hips and presses him into the bathroom counter, his guts are a tangled mess of heated knots. Katsuki's not used to shit like this. Despite his pretty face, he's got little sexual or romantic experience, but he _enjoys_ being touched like this. It's not until Shindo kisses him that Deku resurfaces in his mind—he's too caught up in hormonal bullshit—but the second Deku's big, terrified eyes pop into his head Katsuki practically shoves Shindo across the length of the bathroom.

"I'm here with someone," he mutters. Guilt spreads through him and nullifies anything he might've been feeling below the belt. Shindo seems undeterred.

"Yeah, I saw him. Don't worry, I can keep a secret. Besides, I think you can do better."

"I'm not looking to do better. Can you go now? I actually have to piss."

"Nothing I haven't seen before."

"Have it your way, then," he says, rolling his eyes and turning away to relieve his bladder. Shindo hoists himself up on the bathroom counter and waits patiently. Annoyance burns under his skin. Katsuki doesn't have time for this.

"Dude, seriously, fuck off."

"So testy. Well, when that bet's over with, call me, I guess," he says casually. Katsuki's head whips toward him so fast at the mention of the bet.

"How the fuck do you know about that?"

"Everyone's talking about it."

_Goddamn it._ That just reaffirms the fact that he needs to get back to Deku. He hastily washes his hands and leaves the bathroom without a word to Shindo.

Katsuki descends the stairs, all the while looking for Deku's bushy, green hair. He feels slightly frantic when he finds nothing. He hastens to Kirishima, who looks more than a little sloppy, draped across Ashido.

"Have you seen Deku?"

Kirishima blinks drunkenly at him, and Ashido shakes her head. Yaomomo separates herself from Todoroki just long enough to mutter, "He left."

"What did you do?"

"What you weren't man enough to do. You know he knows this is all a joke? I don't know if that makes it better or worse. It's… it's _sad, _and you're an asshole."

"Oh, fuck off. Climb off your goddamn high horse. You don't know shit about him or _me,"_ he barks, thoroughly pissed at her meddling. "You think reminding him he doesn't belong here helps him in any way?"

Deku was already uncomfortable being here. The last thing anyone needed was for him to be accosted by the goddamn host of the party. This is a fucking mess. Katsuki all but sprints out of the house, hoping Deku isn't running home because he surely won't be able to catch up.

Luckily, he didn't make it that far. He only made it to the bottom of the never ending driveway before he stopped.

"Deku!"

He jolts at the sound of his name, but he doesn't turn around. Deku wipes his face in the crook of his arm, and Katsuki's stomach drops. He doesn't want to see him crying, but he doesn't want to leave him alone to deal with it either.

"Hey," he says, a little out of breath from his mad dash. He needs to do more cardio. Maybe they can go running together.

"I don't want to do anything like that again."

"Yeah, I get that. I'm sorry."

The apology feels rancid in his tongue, but he knows it's the right thing to say. Deku wouldn't be within miles of this place if he didn't ask him to come with him. He should've known no one could keep their mouths shut. Deku shrugs, clearly not in the mood to speak. He's trying not to sniffle, Katsuki can tell, and that guilty feeling twists in his gut again.

"Next time, we'll do something just you and me. Somewhere quiet," he says, trying to be placating.

"Next time? Prom is in less than two weeks. There's no next time."

Katsuki stops short. He's got nothing to say that wouldn't incriminate himself. Deku's already had a shitty night, and Katsuki piling on it with promises of hanging out and being friends won't go over well. He won't believe him. So, he relents.

"Alright. Let's get you home."


	11. A Cinderella Story

"Morning, Deku," he says, coming up behind Deku at his usual breakfast table. He's not sure what possesses him to do so, but he ruffles Deku's curls as he passes him. Maybe it's because Deku seemed to like it when they were at the party—maybe it's because he found that his fluffy hair is soft and light and he likes the way he feels when Deku allows him to touch it. He hardly flinches away from him, and something in him _tingles _at the allowance. He seats himself across from Deku, eyeing his meager fruit cup.

"That's all they gave you for breakfast this morning?"

If he's learned anything about Deku, it's that he can put food away like a professional. A shitty, syrupy fruit cup is nothing. Deku shrugs.

"It's not much, but it's better than nothing."

Katsuki's floored by the response. He's glad they've progressed past shrugs and nods and one-word answers. He likes to think Deku is relatively comfortable in his company. He tries his best not to smile fondly.

"How was the rest of your weekend?" He wants to keep talking, but he'd rather spoon out his eyeballs with Deku's plastic spork than bring up that god-awful party.

"I worked a lot, so good."

"Where do you work?"

"The library and a convenience store."

"Where do you find the time for homework?"

"Sometimes I do it at the library. I used to do it at lunch, but, well…"

"I'm too distracting," he says, finishing for him with a wicked grin. Deku flushes beautifully, his freckled cheeks lit up. Katsuki chuckles at his obvious embarrassment. Sometimes, it feels like their weird little arrangement is just a competition to see who can fluster the other the most. Katsuki usually wins, but Deku does a fine job of unnerving Katsuki, even if he isn't always aware of it. When Deku doesn't say anything, he speaks again, almost desperate to keep their easy conversation going.

"I can help you with your homework at lunch. I'm not just a dumb jock, you know."

Deku actually _laughs_ and the sound is like tinkling bells. Katsuki thinks that's probably the sound he'll hear if he ever makes it to heaven when he dies. Katsuki's cheeks burn.

"I'm on track to be the valedictorian, Kacchan." He almost sounds smug. And that nickname! He says it so casually, so easily, and every time Katsuki hears it he loses the tenuous control he has on the fluttering bugs in his stomach.

"_I'm _on track to be valedictorian. My extracurriculars will probably put me over you. Prepare yourself for disappointment, nerd."

Deku shrugs, a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. Katsuki knows he wants to kiss Deku because he can feel himself leaning across the table like an idiot. That quick kiss in the amphitheater feels so far away now—especially when he remembers the last person he kissed was Shindo. The thought actually infuriates him.

"I don't really care about being valedictorian. I don't want to give the speech. I'm sure yours would be better."

"Fuck that. Public speaking is a bitch."

"But singing some rando a love song in front of the whole school isn't?"

Katsuki rolls his eyes. It was incredibly terrifying singing that song for Deku, but he fucking did it, and he's got no regrets about it. He remembers how in his head he was, swaying around self-consciously and trying very hard not to focus on what he was doing, but then he caught Deku's eye.

Deku looked at him like he was something special—and he _knows _he's special, obviously, but that's not the point. The point is that Deku looked at him with a kind of wonder he's never seen on anyone else and he wanted that look to be his and only his for as long as he could make him look like that. He started this whole thing with the worst intentions—he has no illusions about that now—but he hopes by the end of this, he can make something of it. He wants Deku to find some happiness in his shitty high school experience. Everything else—the truth of his feelings, namely—could come later.

"You're not a rando. We're friends."

Deku gives him a look that's one part incredulous and two parts _that's bullshit._

"_Boyfriends,_ Kacchan," he says, smirking lightly, and Katsuki knows he's only saying it to make him blush (he is, furiously), but his stomach still flips.

"Whatever. You ready? The bell's going to ring soon."

"As ready as I'll ever be."

Deku doesn't even make a move to grab his backpack, and Katsuki is pleasantly surprised by that. He's learning. Katsuki holds the strap of Deku's backpack in one hand, and throws an arm around his shoulder with the other. It's blissfully easy—no protests or flinching—and Katsuki thinks he could get used to this, as he walks Deku to his first class of the day.

"Don't forget we have our tux fittings today. See you at lunch, nerd," he says, ruffling his hair again. Deku's small, answering smile feels like a punch in the head, but in a good, sinus-clearing, dizzying kind of way. Katsuki wonders if other people feel like that when their crush smiles at them, or if it's something uniquely _them._

And then he feels like a fucking dork for thinking something so lame.

His class got out early, so he figures he'll meet Deku at the lockers between classes. He walks with little urgency, a little lost in his flowery thoughts. Maybe he'll hold Deku's hand as they walk to their next class. It's history—one of the few classes they have together. He rounds the corner to Deku's section of lockers, and a metallic _thud_ pulls his attention. Deku is pinned against the lockers, Shimura's hand gripping his neck, while Chisaki looms over him. Katsuki only catches the tail end of Chisaki's taunt.

"—_worthless. _A waste of space."

Katsuki sees red. He stomps over, hardly thinking of trivial things like his spot on the soccer team, or his spotless record. He grabs a fistful of Shimura's shirt and yanks him back. His filthy, crusty hand leaves Deku's throat, but Katsuki's still dissatisfied. He tosses Shimura away, as if he's just as light and unimportant as a fucking used tissue. He falls to the ground, but Katsuki can't be bothered to give him any more attention, not with what Chisaki said to Deku.

The second Chisaki turns to face Katsuki, his fist knocks into Chisaki's face. His nose has barely healed from their last debacle, and the painful crunch has him falling to his knees. Katsuki's never thrown a punch in his life, and he finds that it hurts like a bitch, even with the adrenaline and anger coursing through him.

"Kacchan!" Deku's eyes aren't wide and horrified, but he has enough sense not to defend his bullies, even if he probably disagrees with the show of violence.

"Are you alright?" Katsuki's hands—the hands he used for violence only moments before—are soft and comforting as they brush green curls off his face. He inspects every inch of Deku, looking for a bruise or scratch—a reason to retaliate further against his tormentors.

"You shouldn't do that. What if you get in trouble?"

As if the question summoned him, a thunderous voice booms from the other end of the lockers.

"Bakugo! What the hell is going on?" Coach Vlad, the worst possible person to bear witness to this moment, bellows. He stomps up, much like Katsuki did only moments ago, and helps Chisaki and Shimura to their feet. Katsuki realizes, with a vindictive kind of zeal, that Chisaki is crying as he clutches his bloodied, crooked nose.

"Coach—"

"I don't want to hear it. Get to class, all of you."

Deku is still plastered to the lockers, as if he's still being held there, staring wide eyed at Coach. Katsuki rouses him from his stupor by grabbing his hand. Deku flinches, but holds tight. He's adrift at sea and Katsuki is his lifeline, pulling him away.

"Bakugo," Coach says, and it's a growl. Katsuki thinks of himself as a tough son of a bitch, but when Coach sounds says his name like that, all his confidence melts into a puddle at his feet. He's fucked. "My office at lunch. You too, Chisaki."

Katsuki nods, grim and defeated, but he still holds his head high as he practically drags Deku behind him.

"Kacchan," he says, soft and low. He sounds repentant and that grates on Katsuki's nerves. He feels an urge to snap at Deku, to take his embarrassment at getting caught doing something wrong out on him.

"Shut up, Deku," he growls, but it's also soft, almost pleading. Deku goes quiet during the short walk to their history class, his palm warm and reassuring in Katsuki's the whole way. It isn't until they're approaching the doorway that Deku finds the courage to speak. He yanks on their tethered hands, pulling Katsuki to a reluctant stop.

"Thank you," he murmurs, doing his damndest to maintain eye contact, but he falters. He stares at his shoes for a moment, but his maintains a vice grip on Katsuki's hand. Just before the bell rings, he pushes into Katsuki's space, and plants a small peck on his cheek. Katsuki effectively shuts down, his brain short circuiting at the light pressure of his lips on his cheekbone, his curls fanning out and caressing his face, and the smell of spearmint.

"You didn't have to do that. I really hope you're not in trouble. Sorry," he mumbles, cheeks red, before hastening to his seat at the front of the room.

Katsuki floats on a cloud to his seat at the back of the class, reveling in Deku's affection. Whatever happens with Coach later, he thinks that might've been worth it.

"Hey," Katsuki says, only sparing a moment for pleasantries before he gets to the point. "I need you to hang with Deku at lunch today. I've got… a thing."

"You mean a detention," Uraraka says knowingly, with a mix of sympathy and sarcasm only she could achieve.

"Whatever. I just don't want anyone to fuck with him. He's had a shitty enough day, as it is."

Uraraka nods, a bit solemn, but her pout is quickly replaced with a smile.

"Leave it to me!"

"Give him this, too, but don't make a big deal out of it." He passes a crumpled paper sack to her. Deku only had that shitty fruit cup for breakfast, so he's surely starving. He bristles when she peeks in the bag, but she doesn't say anything. She gives him a sly smile that makes heat crawl up his neck to rest red on his cheeks. She looks like she's about to make some joke, or a pointed comment about his admittedly obvious crush, but she lets it go. Katsuki's never been so grateful. They say their goodbyes, and he squares his shoulders, heading for the locker room to face Coach in his office.

Izuku festers with guilt after the whole _Kacchan as his white knight _scenario. He was resigned to another set of bruises and cutting words—it's happened so often over the years, he's found it's easier not to fight. He closed his eyes as their harsh words rained down him him, along with rancid, hot breath. And, all of sudden, there he was. He jerked Shimura back, as if her were a rag doll, and threw a heroic punch at Chisaki. He's used to violence, but doesn't think he'll ever get used to the sound of cracking bones. Chisaki's nose surely won't look the same after that hit.

His only regret is that Kacchan got in trouble. He hopes he hasn't risked his position on the soccer team for something so trivial. Izuku is too used to being picked on—the whole situation hardly warranted intervention, in his opinion. Still, he couldn't help but feel the overwhelming wash of gratitude flood through him. Kacchan stood up for him. The thought brings a blush high on his cheeks as he walks to his usual lunch spot. He's not looking forward to sitting alone, and he's disappointed by the absence of the promise of lunch. His stomach rumbles in protest, so used to getting food at this time of day. He supposes he can go hungry, as punishment for the trouble Kacchan got into on his behalf.

"Midoriya!" Uraraka waves at him from a nearby lunch table, just as he's about to sit on his lonely ledge of a lunch spot. He waves back, shy but happy to be acknowledged. She's sitting with Kirishima's girlfriend.

"Come sit with us!"

She looks sincere, and Ashido doesn't look all that opposed to it, either. If anything, she's politely indifferent. Izuku wavers for a moment, but decides he looks dumber standing halfway between his lunch spot and her table weighing the pros and cons than just going to sit down. The sack lunch she places in front of his would-be seat at the table is the clincher. He approaches quickly, before he can overthink it, claiming the lunch Kacchan prepared for him.

"Thanks, Uraraka," he mumbles, reaching in the bag for his usual sandwich. She nods, smiling genuinely at him. He blushes because smiles like that are rarely directed at him.

"Hey. Saw you at the party. Sorry, I was a bit too drunk to be social," Ashido says casually. Izuku thinks it's partly because she's neutrally kind, and partly because she wanted to command attention. Izuku gives her a nod, too nervous to speak.

"Momo gave you a hard time the other night?" Ashido asks, presumably as a conversation starter, but Izuku finds himself grimacing. He shrugs.

"She's been up Bakugo's ass about being rude, or whatever, but I think you two have something worth pursuing. Are you excited for prom? Honestly, no one's been able to top Bakugo's promposal. It was so romantic!"

Izuku wants to shrug again because, honestly, what the hell could he say to any of that? Instead, he nods, and makes a show of taking a huge bite out of his sandwich. Ashido seems mildly put off by his unwillingness to speak, but she doesn't strike him as the type to comment on it. She rides a line between unflappable and oblivious, so she soldiers on.

"So, you've got your tux fitting today, right?"

"Yes," he says, soft and quiet and not quite meeting her eyes.

"You nervous?"

_Everything makes me nervous, _he thinks, but he'd never say that.

"I don't know. I've never done anything like this."

"Well, you better take advantage of your Cinderella moment!" Uraraka chimes in, hands smashing her cheeks excitedly. Izuku must look confused because Ashido clarifies.

"You know, that moment in movies where the love interest sees the protagonist all dressed up, and they realize they've fallen?"

"Oh." He refrains from saying something honest. Something like _I'm nothing special _or _Kacchan doesn't think of me like that_ because he's supposed to be playing a part. He shoves more food in his mouth to avoid further conversation. He should've stayed at his table. If it were just Uraraka having lunch with him, he may have been able to handle this, but Ashido makes him nervous.

"Have you ever thought of wearing makeup?" Ashido asks after and overlong silence.

"Um, I don't know how," he mumbles. He can't say he's never thought of makeup, as a concept. He's never had the money or time for things like that, but he always thought it might be nice to be pretty—to wear some kind of mask to boost his confidence. He has fond memories of playing with his mother's makeup. He used the lipstick on his cheeks to draw hearts, and her eyeshadow to plaster on shades of brown that made his eyes sparkle, but that was a long time ago.

His mother's makeup is long gone, and so are her soft, approving smiles, her light praise for how dazzling he looked.

He's so caught up in those memories, he hardly notices Ashido pulling a large, pink bag out of her backpack. She maneuvers around the table to sit next to Izuku, and he clams up, flinching away as she throughly inspects him.

"You have pretty eyes, and I'd literally skin you to wear your freckles. You've got _plenty _to work with." She unzips her makeup bag and pulls out a plethora of products. "May I?"

"Ah, I—"

"Do it, Midoriya! Ashido knows what she's doing, I promise!"

Izuku stares at Uraraka, at her big eyes and even bigger smile. They hold excitement and warmth, and Izuku decides to trust her, even if he doesn't entirely trust Ashido.

"Okay," he mumbles, looking away. Ashido grabs his chin, pulling his face into a better position to be a canvas. He barely keeps from flinching. Her hands are soft and they smell vaguely like vanilla. She instructs him to close his eyes, and he's immediately assaulted by silken brushes along his cheeks, nose, and eyes. Each swipe the fluffy brushes sends a jolt of surprise, terror, and warmth through him. The contact is feather light, almost sweet in its care as it brushes slowly along his skin.

"Open your eyes and look up."

He obeys, trying to keep still as a clumpy mascara wand passes lightly over his lashes. The whole thing takes maybe five minutes, so Izuku doesn't expect to be baffled by the transformation. Ashido tells him to close his eyes again, and she sprays him with a cool, misting liquid.

"Listen, Midoriya. The sexiest thing a person can wear is _confidence._ Doesn't matter if you put a cute tux on if you hunch over in it, you get me? So when you go for your fitting, stand up straight and _smile."_

When Ashido gives him a compact mirror to look at her handiwork, Izuku is struck by the person he sees looking back at him. It doesn't look like him, this attractive, bright eyed boy staring back at him, but he supposes that's not what makeup is for, anyway. He looks good—fuller, pinker cheeks and longer lashes—but still somehow natural. He looks like the kind of person that might feel at home sitting at Kacchan's lunch table. Izuku smiles sadly at the pretty person in his reflection.

"See? Look how cute you are. It's no wonder Bakugo likes you so much."

Izuku takes the words in with a grain of salt. There's a bet, and Ashido is Kirishima's girlfriend. She probably knows about it, so there's no reason to take her words at face value. His eyes shift from his reflection—that beautiful, deceptive doppelgänger—to look at Ashido, and then Uraraka. Uraraka seems to know what he's thinking, her eyes just a bit tight with the same distrust he feels. She shakes her head imperceptibly.

"Thanks, Ashido. I'm sure Kacchan will like me more like this," he says, quietly, but a bit robotically. He's no actor. He can't feign gratitude, but part of him _is_ grateful. He wonders what Kacchan will think of this, but only briefly. For now, Izuku thinks it's enough that he's impressed with himself.


	12. Pretty in Pink

"What the hell were you thinking? Not only fighting on school grounds, but with a teammate!" Coach's voice is always gruff and angry, but at this moment, as he paces back and forth behind his desk, it's far more unsettling.

Katsuki's never cared much for adults and their need to dominate people more than half their age, but he forces himself to stay quiet. He _loves _soccer, and he's already secured a sports scholarship, but it can be yanked away by the first sign of bad conduct. He's not going to let a worm like Chisaki fuck up his prospects. He forces himself to listen intently to Coach's diatribe, hoping he'll have even a minute to explain himself.

"You know how lucky you are that I caught it, and not some other teacher? You know how fast you'd be denied any scholarships?"

Katsuki rankles at his words. He wonders just how many times Chisaki's been caught being a fucking degenerate by Coach, only to let him slide.

"You have anything to say for yourself?" Coach bellows, red in the face. Katsuki's sure to glare Chisaki into submission before he speaks.

"He was bullying my boyfriend—has been for years."

Coach's face seems to blank out for a solid thirty seconds, looking entirely shocked by Katsuki's words. Katsuki's mood sours further, fully expecting some biphobic shit to come spewing out of Coach's mouth. He waits for it with clenched teeth.

"Hmm. Well," Coach says, looking flustered.

"Is that a _problem?"_

"Huh? No, I don't care about all that. Do what you want—I mean, be safe—_ugh, _this is why I don't teach health classes." Coach's face steadily burns with an uncomfortable blush, and Katsuki almost wants to laugh. "Anyway, this is the last I want to hear about either of you getting in fights. If it happens again, I'll be calling scholarship offices. Out, both of you. Chisaki, see the nurse about your nose."

Katsuki pushes himself out of his chair, thoroughly underwhelmed by the lackluster slap on the wrist he just received. All that worry for nothing. Chisaki does the same and they battle for supremacy to be the first out of the doorway—as usual, Katsuki wins. He shoves his hands in his pockets, ready to salvage the rest of the lunch hour, when Chisaki snickers.

"You think I've got scholarships to lose? You think I give a shit about college?"

Katsuki stiffens, shoulders tense. He wants to whip around and punch Chisaki again, but he knows better than to do it five feet away from Coach's door.

"What's your fucking problem with Deku?"

"I don't really have one. I just don't care for people who don't defend themselves. He's an easy target."

"Not with me around. I'll break your nose a third time," he warns, his voice a low growl. Chisaki has the nerve to laugh.

"Deku's not worth losing a scholarship over. I doubt you'll do anything. Besides, it's not like you actually care about him. The whole school knows about that bet. You're just as fucked up as I am."

Chisaki aggressively shoulders past Katsuki, leaving him with those parting words. Katsuki honestly can't say anything. That churning pit is back, opening up in his stomach again, thinking about how many people are laughing at Deku because somehow the bet is public knowledge. It doesn't really matter if Katsuki's serious about Deku if nobody believes him. Hell, even Deku is hard pressed to accept it.

By the time he finds Deku sitting with Uraraka and Ashido, lunch is more than halfway done, and Katsuki's two shakes away from a murderous rage. Katsuki's an angry, little shit most of the time, but he hasn't felt so out of control in a while. He'd never admit it but he's thankful his old hag forced him into those counseling sessions. They were annoying, but ultimately, those sessions set him on the path he's on today. It fostered his love of sports, channeled his anger into something positive like competitive dominance, and it taught him how to _breathe._

He doesn't bother with anything like pleasantries, and he's sure he scares Deku half to death when he throws himself down next to him, but he doesn't care. Deku squawks at the unexpected contact, but he doesn't shove Katsuki away when he holds his waist and shoves his face in the crook of Deku's neck, and breathes long and deep. He can't be bothered with the weakness he's showing, or the out of character search for comfort because it works. The display has kept even Ashido quiet, and that helps, too.

Deku doesn't say anything, probably baffled into silence, but he does pat Katsuki's back, awkward at first, but he seems to relax into it. Katsuki's surprised by how easy this is—how easy it is to take comfort in Deku. Usually, Katsuki's the one to keep Deku from losing his head, not the other way around. It's nice, not just breathing, but breathing him in. He has one of those everything and nothing scents. A mix of simple things—deodorant and soap, detergent and shampoo.

"Bad news?" Deku asks tentatively, fingertips ghosting in Katsuki's hair. Deku's speaking, so that probably means Ashido and Uraraka have slipped away. Katsuki lets out a low grumble.

"M'not in trouble. Just pissed."

"Was your coach mean to you? He's scary," Deku mumbles. Katsuki cracks a smile. He's so damn cute.

"No. Chisaki keeps running his mouth, though."

"Hmm. Don't worry about him, Kacchan. I'm used to it," Deku says softly, fingers now confidently scratching along Katsuki's scalp. Katsuki sighs, just a bit angry again. That's not fair, and Deku doesn't deserve that. He finally unsticks himself from Deku to look him in the eye.

"Why don't you—oh, you look different." Katsuki forgets his annoyance entirely when he gets a good look at him. His eyes are clear and bright, framed by even longer lashes. His cheeks are covered in blush and shimmer in all the right places, accentuating his freckles, the apples of his cheeks, and his round button nose. He looks soft and dainty—more so than usual. He's stunning.

"Different bad?" He asks, self-consciously covering his face. Katsuki can't have that. He holds Deku's wrists so he can't hide.

"Not bad. Not better. Just different. Ashido make you into her little doll?"

Deku shrugs, looking slightly uncomfortable. Katsuki can tell he wants to cover himself up again by the way his hands fidget slightly.

"Do you like it?" Deku mumbles it so low that Katsuki has to strain to hear him. It makes him smile.

"Do _you?"_

Deku nods shyly, unable to meet his eyes, but he looks the slightest bit happy. Katsuki pinches a freckled cheek.

"That's all that matters, then. You're cute with or without it."

Deku's beet red, but he looks pretty pleased with himself, despite Katsuki yanking on his cheek.

"_Kacchan,"_ he whines. "That hurts."

Regrettably, the bell rings. They gather their things and walk hand in hand to Deku's next class. There's no way he's leaving Deku alone at school anymore. He won't give Chisaki the satisfaction.

—

Izuku can't remember the last time he spent his time after school not working, or pinching pennies at the grocery store. Now, he's in some swanky boutique, surrounded by plush, white carpets, flouncy prom dresses, and satiny tuxedos. He feels small… and poor, as he checks a price tag on the first thing he gets his hands on.

"Kacchan, this is as much as my rent," Izuku mumbles, utterly bewildered that anyone would spend a month's worth of rent on a skimpy dress made for one night only.

"So, what? You buying a dress?" Kacchan smirks at him from across the room, casually flipping through a tux catalogue.

"Of course not. Still, I'm sure the tuxes aren't much cheaper."

"Doesn't matter. It's on my parents. My mom hasn't even met you, and she's half in love with you already."

"You… told your mom about me?" Izuku can't believe it. Not only does Kacchan seem like a person who wouldn't tell his mom anything upon pain of death, but this isn't a real thing they're doing. It doesn't make sense.

"Not really. She's a damn snoop, though, and smart as hell. She won't stop badgering me about you. Wants me to bring you over for dinner."

Izuku pulls his eyes away from the mass of tulle and beads and sequins he's been hiding behind to stare openly at Kacchan. This is the first time they've talked about Kacchan's life outside of school and soccer and the bet, and it's nice. He shouldn't meet his family. He _definitely _shouldn't go anywhere near his house.

And still, knowing all that, he says, "Tell me more about your mom."

"She's crazy. Like, literally. That's not an exaggeration. My dad is cool, though. Quiet. I don't know how they ever got together, but… they're alright." Kacchan looks sheepish, embarrassed about everything he just admitted to.

"I bet you'll miss them when you go to college." Izuku smiles the more Kacchan flusters.

"Maybe," he mutters, suddenly very focused on the catalogue.

"That sounds really nice."

He's not sure exactly what he's referring to. Everything in Kacchan's life sounds nice. His family, his future. Izuku would be lying if he said he wasn't jealous.

"You gonna hide behind those dresses all day, or are we going to try on some shitty tuxes?"

Izuku rolls his eyes, and with a nod, they're whisked away by a sales associate for measurements.

—

"Come out of the dressing room, nerd!" Kacchan calls from the other side of the curtain. This is the third time he's asked, but Izuku is content to spend the rest of his days in this tiny, mirrored room if it means Kacchan won't see him in this powdery, pink tux. The sales associate literally apologized to him when she handed him the only tux in his sample size.

"It fits fine. I don't need to come out," he whines. The fit is actually terrible. The pants are too long, the shoulders are too wide, and the butt area is baggy and unflattering, but he's not going to show Kacchan. The color washes him out. He looks like a pasty baby.

"I've never once seen you wear a shirt that actually fits you, so forgive me if I think you're a lying, little shit. Get out here!"

"Kacchan, it's ugly," he says, whining again. When did he get comfortable enough to complain to Kacchan?

"_Oh, really?_ I thought you said it was fine! Get out here, Deku, don't make me rip that ugly curtain down."

"Sir, please, don't rip our curtains," the saleswoman—whom Izuku didn't know was still present—quietly beseeches Kacchan to behave. Izuku laughs, imagining Kacchan's disgruntled pout.

"You're right. It's ugly and it doesn't fit, so I'm taking it off," he says, just as the curtain is hastily pulled aside.

"Kacchan! What—" Izuku's complaint is cut off by hysterical cackling.

"Oh, my god. What the fuck?"

"I told you! Out, I'm taking this off." Izuku's face is on fire, and he's sure his splotchy complexion only makes the tux that much uglier. The bone-deep embarrassment is too much. Kacchan seems to sense his distress, and quickly pulls himself together.

"No, no. You look great. The fit is awful, though. You really thought that was okay?"

"No, but I didn't want you to laugh at me. The color is so bad."

"Nah. It would be okay if it fit right. Come on." Kacchan holds a hand out, and Izuku pouts at it for a solid fifteen seconds before he takes it and lets himself be pulled into the center of the room, onto a raised platform in front of a ton of mirrors. Izuku grimaces at his reflection. He was right. _Pasty baby_ doesn't even begin to cover how bad he looks.

"Oh, my," the saleswoman says, very obviously staring at the lumpy fabric covering his ass. She messes around with her measuring tape, presumably trying to find where she went wrong, moving him this way and that while Izuku burns in embarrassment hell. Kacchan hasn't laughed at him again, but he's smirking from a chair in the corner of the room. It's almost too much to take.

"Relax, Deku. Just let her fix this, and then you can pick out what you want," Kacchan murmurs from across the room, watching Izuku's internal meltdown, and somehow knowing exactly what to say. Sometimes, he hates that. Izuku would never call Kacchan _smooth, _but he seems to smooth all the edges of Izuku's anxiety seamlessly when it counts. He sees through him, and it leaves Izuku feeling exposed more often than not.

"Okay," he mutters, forcing himself to take a deep breath while the saleswoman hovers around him.

—

Katsuki watches Deku fold in on himself further and further as time goes on. It's rotten luck that he's too tiny to have too many options to choose from. Honestly, he doesn't look bad in that color, it's just the fit of the suit. They figure it out, but Katsuki wants him to enjoy himself.

"What color do you want?"

"Huh?"

"What color are you thinking? You can have whatever you want."

"Oh, um, black? I guess? I didn't expect anything special."

"Why not?" Katsuki barks, the vestiges of his anger from earlier in the day making an appearance.

"What do you mean, Kacchan?"

As if on cue, the saleswoman excuses herself to look for more options for Deku to try on.

"Why shouldn't you have something special?"

Deku looks genuinely confused for a while, refusing to meet his eye, but finding it very hard to do when all there is to see his their reflections all over the room.

"Cause this isn't… real."

"Are you questioning reality, nerd?"

"You know what I mean, Kacchan." Deku pouts, and he wants to kiss him again and again.

"Are you going to prom with me? Are we going to take pictures, and wear tuxedos, and eat shitty food, and dance to shitty music?"

"Ka—"

"Answer me, Deku."

He looks flustered, blushing and avoiding his eye again. He seems to be weighing his options, looking for some kind of out, but the bet doesn't really allow for that.

"Yes," he mumbles, looking at his socked feet. One sock is blue and the other is white.

"Then it's real. You're my date, and I want you to have a good time, so pick whatever makes you feel good. It's the absolute least I can do for you," he says, and that guilty feeling hits him full force. That feeling that says he's no better than Chisaki, or Shimura. That feeling that reminds him that this started as a bet, a joke. That feeling that tells him he's falling hard and fast, and he's powerless to stop it.

Katsuki knows himself well enough to admit that he wouldn't stop it, even if he could. Even if Deku never feels the same way, he wants prom night, and the time leading up to it, to be something worth remembering for him. It's the least he can do.


	13. 27 Tuxes

"You're so _tiny,"_ the saleswoman remarks, seemingly to herself, while she remeasures Deku's waist. Katsuki wonders, not for the first time in the last hour, if he should ask the woman if a kid's tux might fit him better. The question would mortify Deku, though, so he holds his tongue.

"Are you going to try anything on?" Deku asks, his arms out in a T-pose to accommodate the saleswoman.

"I already know my measurements, so probably not." Katsuki idly flips through the catalogue again, trying to decide between forest green or maroon. Maroon is more his color, but green has been growing on him lately.

"That's so unfair!" Deku squawks, just barely keeping himself from stomping his foot. Katsuki smirks at the display.

"What? You want me to put on a show for you?"

"N-no," Deku mumbles shakily, eyes on his socks again. The saleswoman stuffs a fist in her mouth to keep herself from laughing.

"Liar," he says smoothly, his smirk in danger of morphing into a beaming grin. He rattles off his measurements to the saleswoman, and asks her to bring a few tuxes in different cuts and colors next time she comes back. Then, just before she leaves the room, he tells her that if they need to get a custom tux for Deku, it's fine as long as she doesn't say anything to him. She nods, wide eyed, but obedient, and slips out of the room.

"Did you think more about the color you want?"

"Not pink," Deku says, frowning at the fabric on his body. Katsuki laughs, and positions himself behind Deku. He gasps when Katsuki tugs the suit jacket off his back, and tosses the ugly thing on a chair.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to get you to relax," he says, staring over Deku's shoulder at their reflection, and placing his hands on his shoulders. Deku looks like the personification of a coiled spring—uptight, seconds away from unfurling with a vicious recoil. He feels an urge kiss the exposed skin on the back of his neck, just above his collar. "It's just trying on clothes. Nothing special."

"I haven't been in a dressing room since I was eight," he mumbles, tensing when Katsuki kneads his fingertips into the knots in Deku's back. "And never one this nice."

There's that burning honesty again. The more comfortable Deku gets, the worst these little tidbits of information become. All of his memories are steeped in crippling sadness. He'd never dream of telling Deku not to open up to him, though. He craves it.

"Well, now you're here. With me. Try to enjoy it," he says, his voice uncommonly soft in the large, mirrored room. His fingers find their way back into his hair, massaging his scalp and pulling apart the tender little knots in Deku's curls. He watches as Deku's mouth parts, pretty and pliant, and his eyelids flutter shut. Katsuki feels that expression warm and low in his gut. He wants to devour him.

The saleswoman comes back, and it feels like being doused with a bucket of cold water. Immediately sobering. Deku literally shrieks at the unexpected intrusion, and tumbles off the little platform.

"Oh, gosh. Sorry," she says, depositing a plethora of colorful suits on a hanging rack.

"It's cool. Can you give us a few minutes to try these on?" Katsuki chooses his words carefully, trying his best not to bark orders out. She's been really nice thus far.

"Okay," she says, slowly, "but no funny business, alright?"

Katsuki barks a laugh, and throws what he hopes is a handsome smile Deku's way.

"Hear that? Keep your hands to yourself, nerd."

Deku makes a sound like an ancient dial-up connection and covers his reddening cheeks with his hands. He's too fucking cute.

She leaves, and instead of teasing Deku more, Katsuki sorts through the tuxes she left behind. He smirks at the sampling of sizes for Deku when he finds that she did include a kid's size for him, but that's neither here nor there at the moment. Deku wants a show, and he'll get one.

Katsuki feels like the luckiest bastard in the world when he finds the exact tux he was eyeing in the catalogue—slim fit and forest green with sharp, black lapels. Katsuki wasted no time, unzipping the garment bag, and whipping his shirt off over his head.

"Kacchan!" Deku slaps a hand over his eyes, presumably to protect Katsuki's nonexistent modesty.

"What?" He asks, feigning ignorance. "I've got nothing to hide."

Katsuki stands there, chest bare, waiting for Deku to get an eyeful. What's the point in changing in front of him if he's not even going to look? Finally, after a small eternity, Deku peeks between his fingers, and Katsuki swears he's staring directly at his nipples for a full ten seconds before covering his eyes again, and muttering something that sounds suspiciously like _exhibitionist heathen._

"Try this one on," Katsuki says, freeing the kid size tux from its plastic prison and tossing it at him.

Deku makes no move to dress himself, stuck staring between the tux and the little privacy corner he changed in earlier.

"You can change out here. I won't look," he says, attempting to be breezy and casual, as he fiddles with the buttons on his shirt.

"Um," is all Deku says, and it's enough to make Katsuki turn his head to check on him. He's rubbing his arm again, the same way he did that day in the locker room, and he feels like a fucking idiot. He's not sure how he managed to forget how much he hates his arm.

"Hey," he says, softly, trying to bring Deku out of his shell. "Do what you gotta do. I'm not gonna judge you, either way."

—

Kacchan is beautiful, and he knows it. Izuku feels plain and weak in comparison as he eyes tanned skin and sinuous muscle. His scars pulse with shame. He's suddenly exhausted, ready to go home with the first suit that fits, so he can go home and hide from the world like a forgotten relic. He eyes the tux Kacchan tossed his way. Thankfully, it's plain and black, nothing like the pink monstrosity he's currently in, but he has a sneaking suspicion that it's made for children.

Izuku is no stranger to frustration—it's his constant companion, really, but he's so tired of being frustrated. He might be tired of hiding, too, but the fear of letting anyone see him is too great. He hates how much he wants Kacchan to see him, how close he is to giving himself away. If he does that, what will he have when all this is over? He doesn't have an answer.

He watches Kacchan again because it's like watching art come to life. He shrugs on a deep green jacket, settling into it like a second skin. Of course, it fits him perfectly. It's hard not to marvel at his appearance, to covet his confidence, to want to be cared for by someone so captivating.

Izuku decides, right then, that he couldn't care less about giving himself away. He's not much, anyway. He unbuttons the starchy shirt he's in and takes it off. He's still in his undershirt, an old, ratty tank top, but he feels extremely naked with his arm exposed. Just like he promised, Kacchan isn't looking. He could cover up again, and forget this. He could go into the little curtained room and act like this never happened, but he's come this far. It'd be a waste to turn back.

"Alright, what do you think?" Kacchan asks, completely oblivious to Izuku's inner turmoil as he inspects himself in a mirror. Izuku can't bring himself to speak, nerves clogging up his throat. Finally, Kacchan looks at him, and Izuku has to stop himself from trying to cover the worst of his scarring.

Izuku's not sure what he expected—some life-altering ordeal, he supposes, but maybe what he gets is better. Complete nonchalance, and a supportive smirk.

"You've got more muscle on you than I thought, nerd," he says, sauntering across the room to stand in front of Izuku. He's fully dressed in the forest green tux, hair messy, eyes sharp. Aggressively handsome. Tentatively, he runs a light fingertip over a cluster of mottled skin, like he's inspecting it, though his eyes stay on Izuku's. Izuku can't bring himself to speak, but Kacchan always knows what to say.

"It's not ugly, Deku. I get why it bothers you emotionally, but it's not ugly. No part of you is."

He remembers, fleetingly, what Ashido said at lunch about a Cinderella moment. The moment the character in the story realizes they've fallen. If only they knew it was Izuku who fell, not Kacchan.

"Did you try on that baby tux yet?"

Maybe he spoke too soon. Izuku rolls his eyes at Kacchan's wicked smirk, and whatever heavy moment they might've been having evaporates into thin air. Izuku is glad for the reprieve, feeling lighter than he has in years.


	14. Announcement

Hello, all! ive decided to permanently move to Ao3. My stories are continued there, and I will no longer be posting on this site. Sorry for the inconvenience, but I hope to see you there! You can find me under the same username.

XO katya


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